Meetings
by ElliQuinn
Summary: How does someone come back from the dead? And how can they find the rest of the team in a Samaritan-dominated world? Early Season 4, AU obviously but only slightly so.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's note: I don't, of course, own any of these characters, so please don't sue me. Thanks for all the encouragement I've had over the last couple of days - it really energised me to finish off some stuff which had been languishing. I think this will probably turn out much longer, but we'll have to see. I'm sure everyone can cope with the occasional non-American spelling or expression (I'm not American, but I try hard to get the idiom right) - though let me know if anything grates particularly! Mistakes of course are my own. I hope you enjoy this!_

Detective John Riley shuffled with the crowd towards the elevators. The end of another day, spent giving evidence in another narcotics case left over from before his promotion to Homicide. He was slightly surprised at how closely life as a cop resembled certain aspects of life in the army. Long periods of boredom punctuated with moments of even more boredom. Those courtroom dramas showed impassioned arguments in the judge's chambers, but they never showed the rest of the crowd hanging around for an hour or so waiting for the decision. Real life was so much less interesting than TV, Riley decided. Still, once he was clear of the court house Riley could clock off and he could allow Reese to emerge. The nearest elevator was nearly full as he approached it. A last passenger, a woman in a business suit with a laptop and brief case, squeezed in and turned to face outward. Their eyes met, one of those accidental unwanted contacts with a stranger that city dwellers put up with. There was utter shock on her face as the doors closed.

He exploded into movement.

"NYPD, emergency!" He brandished his badge like a weapon as he shouldered through the crowd, barging into the stairwell and plunging down three flights, heart hammering. He slammed through the door to the lobby and scanned the floor for her.

The elevator had discharged its load and homeward bound workers were filing across the lobby towards the street doors. As he'd hoped, she was still there, walking like an automaton, looking around her in confusion. Launching himself across the marble floor, he skidded to a halt in front of her and stared. His mouth was suddenly completely dry. "Joss?" he croaked.

XXXXXXX

They ordered two beers and found a booth in the back of the bar. It was dark there, and Reese noted that if they slid in close to the wall they were in a blind spot for the security cameras. He sat down and gazed avidly across the table at her. She seemed pale under the caramel of her skin. Pale and thin.

"You were dead," he whispered.

"I thought you were too. I saw afterwards, you weren't helping people any more."

He said nothing, but she must have seen the question in his eyes, _What the hell happened?_ She breathed deeply. "I can't remember anything of that night, you know. So I'll tell you what they told me.

"My heart stopped three times in the bus and twice more in the ER. I was in surgery for eleven hours, in an induced coma for six days and then sick as hell for nearly a month after that. Complications. Pneumonia. I nearly died again. Then when I was getting better they came to see me. The HR case. They wanted me in witness protection until the case was over. Oh yes, and everyone thought I was dead. Somehow they had talked my Mom into having a funeral for me while I was unconscious. They told her it was the best way to keep me safe while Simmons was still out there. Then once the case was over you were gone. I couldn't contact you, your number didn't work and all I could do was hope you'd find me. If you were even still alive. But since I was dead you weren't even looking." She stopped for breath. "I'm not a cop anymore."

"Why?" Without thinking he reached across the table and took her hand gently.

"You don't take two bullets in the chest and just walk away, John. You know that." She sighed. "The first bullet hit me dead center. But it seems that evening I was wearing a brassiere which had a sort of decorative medallion, metal, about half an inch across, stitched between the cups. The bullet clipped it, which slowed and deflected it, so it missed my descending aorta by a hair and embedded itself in my T7 vertebra, missing my spinal cord also by a whisker." She raised her beer to him. "You're looking at a woman who was saved by her lingerie." He had to smile at that. "What, no doctors involved?" he murmured.

She smiled in return. "Oh, lots and lots of doctors. Some pretty inspired paramedics, too. And a bunch of little old black ladies in Brooklyn." He raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"My Mom. And her prayer group." She glanced down at the table, then looked up into his eyes. "Mom said that that evening she suddenly had this overwhelming feeling that I was in danger. She called her friends and they all came over and they prayed up a storm. Just as I was catching two bullets."

There was a silence. Reese took a pull on his beer. "The other bullet?" he asked.

"Yeah, well I wasn't as lucky with that one. It lodged in my heart." Reese caught his breath.

"Eleven hours in surgery, remember?" Joss smiled sadly. "Anyway, it's over and I'm alive. In fact, it wasn't really the bullets that saw me out of the police. It was the pneumonia. I lost some lung function, and it's probably permanent. Anyone wants me to run more than half a block, they're looking at a big disappointment."

"I'm so sorry, Joss." He stroked her fingers, then realized what he was doing. He looked down at his hand in confusion and tried to pull away. Joss held on. She smiled at him.

"Once I came out of witness protection I needed a job. And a purpose. So now I'm an ADA. Still putting the bad guys away, just not with a gun and a badge anymore." She took a sip of her drink. "You know, I don't remember the shooting. But I do remember the night before."

He was silent.

"I remember being in the morgue with you, comparing scars." She was gazing absently at her hand holding his.

He was distantly aware that he wasn't breathing.

"You told me I was stuck with you. And so I'm wondering. After all this time." She took a big breath. "I'm wondering if that's still true."

She looked up at him. He took a long breath. His eyes were watering. Something in the air con, maybe.

"Yes, Joss. It's still true. Always."

XXXXXX

Dinner at a diner. Reese thought that was highly appropriate for a reunion meal with Joss. He ordered steak, she had a Caesar salad. "Do you need to get home?" he asked. "Is Taylor expecting you?"

Joss suddenly looked weary. Sad and - surely not defeated? "No, John. He lives with his dad now. In fact, we haven't spoken in a while."

"What?" Reese thought he had misheard. Joss shook her head.

"It's a long story. You see, after I got shot the only person who knew I was alive was my Mom. I didn't tell Paul. Or Taylor."

"Why?" Reese could not believe what he was hearing.

"I'm still not sure it was the right decision. In fact most days I'm pretty sure it was the wrong one. Mom was very firm that I not tell Taylor. She wanted to spare him the burden of keeping a secret like that. Pretending I was dead, not only at the funeral, but for months after. Also, he's not a very good liar."

"You brought him up right."

A tight smile. "So I spent two months in hospital and then eight months in witness protection during which he thought I was dead. When I came back to life he felt betrayed. The way he sees it, I didn't trust him enough to tell him the truth. He's got a good point."

"And Paul?"

"Well, that was an easier decision." She sighed. "Once I would have trusted him with my life. I loved him, I mean I married him after all. But he broke it. It might have been all right, but I couldn't be sure he wouldn't tell Taylor. So he's pissed at me too. He and Taylor sort of keep each other angry at me. I'm not sure I can blame them."

She pushed her hair back off her face. Obviously searching for a different subject, she suddenly said, "Something I've been wondering. I heard Simmons was found garroted in his hospital bed. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

Reese blinked. "Wasn't me, I was unconscious myself at the time. And it couldn't be Fusco, he already had his shot."

"Yeah?"

"You never heard about that? He tracked Simmons down, beat him in a fair fight and brought him into the precinct for your murder. Refused to shoot him when he was lying on the ground in front of him. Because it wasn't what you would have wanted."

"Oh." She looked ashamed.

"Fusco," said Reese. "You never told him either."

Tears filled her eyes. "I couldn't. I just couldn't."

"Why, Joss? I don't get it."

She made a small sound, a little like a whimper. "I can't explain, John, I just can't explain. I was so sick and they told me to stay under the radar and Mom said it was all for the best. Then when I was better I tried to make it all right with Taylor and Paul but they were angry and betrayed. I had no way to contact you, I was off the force, I felt like it was all over. A scary, strange, amazing part of my life had ended and Lionel was a part of that. It hurt. I wanted to reach out to him, but it was too late. Or too early. Or something." She reached out and took his hand. "Please don't tell him."

Reese shook his head. "I can't promise that, Carter. The man deserves to know."

"He'll be angry and betrayed just like Taylor. I can't handle that right now. Please just don't tell him yet."

Reese looked hard at her. She was still Joss, but she had changed. Still strong, but brittle right now. _You don't take two bullets in the chest and just walk away_, he thought. That was for sure. Slowly he nodded. "Not yet. But you need to tell him some time. Sooner or later he's going to bump into you in an elevator just like I did."

She nodded, not meeting his eyes, pushed the remains of her salad around on her plate, then looked up at him with a bright fake smile.

"Well, that's enough about me. What have you and your friends been doing since my untimely demise?"

Reese glanced up at the camera on the ceiling. "That's a conversation we need to have somewhere else. Come on, I want to show you something."

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's note: Another chapter - longer this time, too. Apologies for the formatting errors in the previous chapter - I'm still feeling my way with this site's document manager, which doesn't seem to want to put breaks in the text. That must have made the scene changes in the last chapter a bit confusing! I think (crossing fingers) I've got it figured now, though. Enjoy!_

As they came down the stairs to the old subway station, Reese suddenly got the sense that something was different. He gestured to Carter to fall back and drew his service weapon. Hugging the wall, he turned a corner into total darkness. A low voice spoke.

"Welcome home, John. Company?"

"Sameen. How about some light?"

A brief pause, then "Lights please, Harold."

The lights came on, a sudden glare that momentarily dazzled him, but he was rewarded with the sight of Shaw's jaw dropping as Carter stepped out of the shadows, slipping a small handgun into her jacket pocket. He had to hand it to Shaw, though: she recovered quickly, lowered the Beretta she favoured and changed her expression to a glare directed at him. "You could have warned us. Someone coming back from the dead should be worth a heads up, don't you think? We couldn't tell who was with you on the stair cam."

He was about to reply when he heard the sound of uneven footsteps hurrying up to them. Harold was nearly running. Bear trotted happily at his side. The look on Harold's face as he approached warmed Reese's heart.

"Detective Carter, Joss, I, I... I am speechless with joy!" Finch beamed.

"So am I, Harold. So am I." Carter beamed back at him.

Shaw was peering up the stairs to the surface. "Look, can we move the love fest down to the station? If someone up there hears voices this location will be compromised, and there's no way I'm going back to the makeup counter. Not to mention wasting all Harold's welding."

As they made their way down the last flight of stairs to the station platform, Joss leaned towards Reese and murmured "Makeup counter?"

"Trust me, you don't want to know," he muttered back.

Joss's perfectly shaped eyebrows rose as they passed under the arched entrance onto the platform. "This is where you ran things from the whole time? I figured you must have a hideout somewhere but I never imagined anything like this."

"Actually, no," Harold replied. "We used to be based in an abandoned library, but it's safer here. Our new enemy is very powerful and almost omniscient." They filed into the old subway car, Joss's eyes widening at the array of computer equipment and its tangle of wiring.

"New enemy," she repeated. "Now why am I not surprised? I guess you'd better tell me all about it."

xxxxxxx

"The great mystery to me is how I failed to notice your reemergence," said Harold, glancing up at Joss. They were seated in the subway car, John and Shaw nursing coffees.

"I don't think there's any mystery at all," she replied. "You knew I was dead, so you never thought to look. It's a big city. Me finding you was always going to be a challenge, God knows I had a hard enough time even with the NYPD and the FBI helping. By the time I was recovered and out of witness protection the crime stats alone told me you were out of business. I couldn't think what had happened so I kept my head down. I guess in the end we would have made contact one way or another."

"Which indeed you have done," admitted Harold. "Hidden in plain sight. I just wish John had found you in a slightly less... memorable way."

"What do you mean?" asked Reese, frowning.

"Let me show you." Harold's fingers rattled across the keyboard. "Here's the surveillance footage from the court house." They watched the fuzzy images. A crowd of soon-to-be commuters waiting for an elevator. A tall cop in a suit suddenly plunging through the crush waving his badge, the agitation on his face clear even in the low quality black and white. The stairwell camera: the same man charging head first downwards, a slight Asian woman coming up the stairs knocked into the wall by his rush. The lobby camera: a woman walking hesitantly towards the street doors, the tall cop shouldering through the thinning crowd until he met her. They talked for a moment, then left together.

There was silence in the subway car.

"What we have just seen is exactly the sort of anomalous behaviour which draws Samaritan's attention," said Harold. "Samaritan will know of Joss Carter's past. It will know she spent time hunting the Man in the Suit. It will know she was assisted in bringing Alonzo Quinn to justice by a man in a suit. There may still be archive footage of that man. And here she meets Detective John Riley, who has just been seen acting in a thoroughly uncharacteristic manner to make contact with a woman he has supposedly never met before. And who wears a suit."

"The Man in the Suit is dead, though. Ever since Snow blew himself up," commented Carter.

"True, but in that case we are depending on Samaritan not to reexamine that conclusion. It won't link Detective Riley directly to John Reese because of the hard coding on the server. But it could make a more circuitous connection – the Man in the Suit to John Reese, and Riley to the Man in the Suit."

"Maybe I should just ditch the suit," murmured Reese.

"A bit late now, Mr Reese. That would only serve to draw attention to yourself. No, we need to think very carefully about this before we do anything at all." He rotated his chair to face Joss. "I am also extremely concerned that you used John's old cell phone number to try to contact him while you were in witness protection. Even though you were cautious enough to use a burner phone you may have been flagged by Samaritan at that point. You will need to be extraordinarily careful in the way you conduct yourself from now on, Ms Carter. One more false move and the hammer will come down – if indeed it is not already descending."

They were all still for a moment. "Well, some of us have to go to work in the morning," said Carter at last. "I think under the circumstances I'll walk myself home. Detective Riley has probably taken enough risks for one night." Reese nodded reluctant agreement.

"I'll give you a head start and then tail you," offered Shaw. "I know you're carrying, but this neighbourhood isn't the safest one in town."

"Might be best," agreed Carter. "It's not like I can run in these shoes."

"Oh, before you go, Ms Carter," said Harold, "I'd like you to have one of these." He held out a phone. "If you want one. One of the VHF phones I was telling you about. Of course you realise that if you accept it we will inevitably use it."

"You're asking me if I want to become one of your assets again. Go back to breaking the rules on your behalf? I'll have to think about that." She gave Harold an arch look. "Thank you, Harold. I think I will." She took the phone and dropped it into her jacket pocket, where it rattled slightly against the gun. She picked up her laptop and briefcase, nodded to Finch and shot a small, subdued smile in Reese's direction before she turned and left the car.

xxxxxxxx

The silence after the two women left was finally broken by Finch. He gave a long sigh and took his glasses off to polish them. "Quite an emotional roller coaster, Mr Reese."

Reese nodded.

"I think we need to make some contingency plans, though," said Finch. "If Ms Carter has already compromised herself she may need emergency accommodation and a new identity good enough to fool Samaritan. That won't be easy, so I'd better get started. We also need to consider what to do about Detective Riley." He turned back to his computer screens, his fingers flying over the keyboard.

Reese watched him for a few minutes. There seemed little else to do for the moment, and he was deeply tired. But he was reluctant to head home to Detective Riley's rented brownstone; there was too much adrenaline washing around in his body still. He stood and paced a little. The subway car was far more cramped than the library, but at least it was a good shape for pacing in. But after a few lengths he slumped back into a seat. Bear, sensing his disquiet, stood, yawned and meandered over to him, resting his head on Reese's knee and gazing up soulfully. Reese fondled the dog's ears in return.

"You could take him out for a walk if you wish, Mr Reese," said Harold without turning.

"Maybe I will, Professor. I'm too keyed up to sleep right now, a walk might be just what I need." He found Bear's lead and clipped it to the dog's collar; as the two left the subway car he thought he heard Finch murmur "Maybe he'll find some unfortunate mugger..."

It was very dark as he emerged onto the street, the sky lit by a diffuse glow of light pollution, but no working street lights so close to the entrance to their den – Shaw and Harold had made sure of that. The air had cooled quite a bit since sunset and it was very quiet – the quiet of a late night in a big city in the middle of the week. Distant sirens, traffic sounds from several blocks away. Bear's claws clicked against the concrete of the sidewalk as they set off down the street. Reese lengthened his stride, and Bear picked up his pace to a trot. Soon the rhythm of the walk soothed the turmoil in Reese's mind. Joss's return was ... well, what was it? Simply beyond anything he'd imagined or hoped. It was too big to deal with, and he found his thoughts sliding away from it. The fact that she'd estranged herself from all those nearest and dearest to her was somehow easier to latch on to. He shook his head as he walked. For a long time he had wanted nothing more than to have Joss's back, to be there for her and to stand with her, whatever the threat might be. But this one was beyond the skills of a former assassin. Maybe he should have become a therapist instead. Now there was a thought, John Reese the shrink, earning his living sitting next a couch with a notebook. A missed opportunity, perhaps...?

He was approaching a corner and snapped alert as two women appeared from around it and hurried arm in arm along the street towards him. Familiar figures, Joss marching as fast as she could in high heels and Shaw looking back over her shoulder as she drew her Beretta...He caught Shaw's eye as she and Joss approached. "We're being followed," she murmured as they passed each other. "I'll take care of it," he replied quietly. Shaw nodded, her hand under Joss's elbow. With a pang, he heard the sound of Joss's laboured breathing. _Anyone wants me to run more than half a block, they're looking at a big disappointment..._

He reached the corner, flattened himself against the wall and peered cautiously around it. There were two men approaching, one large and the other really, really large. He slid a hand down Bear's lead, preparing to slip it off. The two men were just beginning to break into a run as he slipped the dog's lead. "Bear! Houden!" he said firmly. The dog raced forward and came to a halt in front of the duo, growling menacingly with his hackles raised. They stumbled to a stop, momentarily distracted by the snarling dog. Reese took advantage and simply piled into the bigger of the two, tackling him at waist height and knocking him sideways into his companion. A neatly placed kick to the second man's crotch as they went down saw him rolling off into the dark clutching at himself and sobbing, but the big man used his own momentum to bounce back to his feet and hurled himself at Reese seeking a wrestler's hold. It was almost too easy. Reese dispatched him with an elbow to the throat followed instantly by a vicious headbutt to his face. The crunch of the man's breaking nose transmitted itself through Reese's own skull and sounded oddly loud in his ears. Dropping him in a limp heap on the ground, Reese searched through the shadows for the smaller man, coolly kicked him unconscious and bent to go through his pockets. Extracting a wallet, slightly sticky with some unguessable substance, he returned to the big man, who was beginning to stir. Before he had fully regained consciousness Reese had retrieved the man's wallet, fortunately cleaner than his comrade's. Bear was still in place, his growls dying away as Reese soothed the dog and clipped the lead back onto his collar. He turned and followed Joss and Shaw back along the darkened street.

xxxxxxxx

Back in their refuge, Carter had regained her breath and was sitting rubbing her feet. As he entered, she shot a look of dislike at her shoes, abandoned on the floor in front of her. "Never could stand wearing those things. God knows why I ever put up with 'em," she grumbled.

"Because they make your ass look good, next question," replied Shaw with a flick of one eyebrow..

Finch cleared his throat. "Perhaps you could tell us what happened now John's back, Joss," he said mildly.

"When I got to the corner of the street where I catch the subway I decided to make an extra circle around the block and found I'd picked up a tail," she replied. "Thankfully Sameen joined me not too far from where you met us, John. We were looking for a dark alley where we could have a little talk with them, but this was better. No comebacks."

Reese was going through the contents of the wallets he had taken. "Diego Vasquez and Oliver Madden. Anything on them, Finch?"

The rattle of Finch's keyboard. An oddly comforting sound, Reese thought.

"Hmmm... plenty, actually, John. Mr Vasquez has a lengthy rap sheet for petty robbery. Shoplifting. Dishonesty offences." A pause. "Much the same for Madden, with the addition of a couple of arrests for sexual offences, no convictions. Yet." Finch looked as though he had a bad smell under his nose.

"So most likely a couple of ordinary muggers," said Reese meditatively. He glanced at Joss. "Do we dare make another try to get you home and back into your normal life? Or do we assume you're compromised and sit tight here?"

"I'm inclined to agree that this is most likely a coincidence," said Finch. "But I also distrust coincidences. I think it would be wisest to stay here for the night, Ms Carter, until we can check out your apartment."

Joss gazed around the spartan interior of the subway car. It was plain she had no taste for staying there, but at last she shrugged. "If you have an emergency cot for me to sleep on I guess I could stay," she said reluctantly. "I could use a burner phone to call in sick tomorrow until we figure out what's going on."

"At present I think that might be the safest option, Ms Carter," said Finch. "I'm sorry we no longer have access to our safe houses. There is a cot we can put in here – the best hospitality we can offer, I'm afraid. And Bear will keep the rats out." His mouth tightened in distaste.

"I do wish you hadn't mentioned that," sighed Joss. "Still, I've slept in worse places." She looked across to Shaw. "Sameen, is there any chance you can find me some supplies between now and morning? I know it's late and I hate to impose, but..."

"Sure Joss," replied Shaw easily. "Gimme a list and I'll see what I can find. There's a couple of bodegas and convenience stores a few blocks away. But, ummm," she looked slightly embarrassed, "do you have any cash on you? I'm a little short."

It took a while to rig the cot and some privacy curtains at one end of the car. Finch was apologetic that he needed to keep some of the lights on while he worked, "Just in case a new identity for you is needed after all, Ms Carter." By the time they were finished the last of the adrenalin had leached away from Reese's system, replaced by a dragging fatigue.

"Bear and I will keep watch, John," Finch assured him at last. "You really need to get some sleep, I think." He nodded reluctant agreement and set off for Riley's apartment, with a last look over his shoulder at the dimmed lights of the subway car.

To be continued...


	3. Chapter 3

_This chapter is really pretty long, because there seemed no good place to split it. Hope you all like it!_

Street light leaked in through his bedroom curtains as Reese finally lay down on his bed. Knowing the best way to get to sleep was to not try, he rolled over on his side and concentrated on breathing, slow and deep. He allowed his mind to wander...Carter was back. Those moments on the sidewalk cradling her body returned to him like a combat flashback. The pain from his gunshot wounds was utterly overshadowed by the devastation which had washed through him in those seconds. You survived by not thinking about things too much; that time in the morgue and then the hours in custody before Carter'd sprung him had allowed him far too much time to think. _You changed me, Joss...changed my mind._ Finch had given him a purpose, but he knew that the real beginning had been the moment in the precinct when Joss had looked at him and seen a person, not a bum or a troublemaker. It was in that moment he'd begun, not to hope again, but to _want_ to hope. And then Finch had come, and the Numbers, but Carter was always there, baying on his trail. An amusing game of cat-and-mouse at first, but gradually he'd come to see someone he admired. Trusted. Depended on. The realisation of what he might, just might, have stumbled on... not a replacement for Jessica, never that, but a new beginning. Then to have the cup dashed from his hand before he could drink - his hands clenched, and again he made himself relax, breathe deep...Then the hunt for Simmons, and the terrible depression afterwards, like wading thigh-deep, neck-deep, in thick, cold, black mud. He'd nearly drowned in it. Relax, relax...breathe deep, in and out. In. And out. Carter had been there with him still, carried in a silent secret place somewhere deep in his chest. Never forgotten. But not examined either. Too painful. No new beginning, just another incentive to not think about things too much. Relax... breathe... And how to start again with her? A second chance, God knew those came all too seldom. Maybe dinner. A walk in the park. Friendship, conversation. All those simple, ordinary things which were so hard to come by in his bizarre life, especially right now. Dinner. A walk. Soon...he drifted off to sleep.

XXXXXXXX

A few hours later Detective Riley was woken by his alarm, and rolled out of bed to face another day. With extreme prejudice. He detested the process of showering, shaving, dressing and eating. With every movement he was packing Reese into a box, hiding him somewhere safe and dark and quiet, deep inside. The only problem was that Reese was a tricky bastard, a real escape artist. Riley was playing catch-up to Reese all day, and he knew it. In many ways he felt just as he had back working for the Agency. He was trying to throttle part of himself, play a role so convincingly he even convinced himself, and he knew that if he failed the consequences could be dire. There was one difference, though. At least his partner wasn't a mind-molester like Kara Stanton...He almost groaned aloud. Fusco. What the hell was he going to say to him? "Hi Lionel, guess who I met yesterday? Your late partner and dear friend, who wasn't dead after all, just never told you or anyone else..." He had promised not to tell Fusco just yet, but in the light of day he recognised that the longer he kept Carter's secret the harder it was going to be to tell him in the end. Dear God, it was just like being in high school all over again. Wonder if he could persuade Carter to come to the prom with him? He left the dishes in the sink, pulled the door shut behind him, and headed off to work.

Fortunately most of the day was spent working independently from Lionel, Riley was relieved to find. He re-interviewed two witnesses from a case which if not cold was at least chilling rapidly. Veronica Stevens, a nurse coming home off an evening shift, had been assaulted and robbed, no apparent sexual motive. She had died in hospital without regaining consciousness; her workmates along with domain awareness cameras gave a fairly precise time line of her last movements. Her purse had been recovered from a dumpster several blocks away, but the assault itself had taken place in a camera blind spot. The witnesses, workmates who'd been with her as they'd left at the end of the shift, had nothing else to add to their initial statements. That left them with the unis canvassing the area, prints off the purse, and the surveillance footage from a dozen cameras to wade through. CIs might bring news of someone bragging over the next few days, but most likely it would be the dull, methodical step-by-step of routine police work which would close the case. Long periods of boredom, punctuated by moments of even more boredom...

The end of his shift finally brought him relief. Neither Finch nor Shaw had contacted him, so he pulled out his VHF phone as he walked back to the brownstone apartment. To his surprise, it vibrated in his hand and he answered immediately.

"Good afternoon, Detective. We have a number." He thought he could hear suppressed amusement in Finch's voice.

"Oh yes?"

"Yes. 013-00-6062." Definite amusement.

Reese took a moment to process this, and then groaned. "Leon. Again."

"Indeed. I haven't yet dug into the exact nature of the trouble he's landed himself in this time, but I do have a location for him. It might be quicker if you simply head over there and find out from him directly."

"Hell, Fin-, Professor, do we really have time for Leon's troubles right now?"

"He_ is_ a number, John. Remember, isn't this what it's all about?"

"Do we have any further ideas about Carter?"

"If by that you mean, do we know whether she's compromised, no. When she phoned in this morning it was treated by her office as a normal sick call. She can afford to stay away another day or so before her absence becomes hard to explain as illness. The next move would be to take a closer look at her apartment, to see if it's been disturbed in any way or is being watched. I've asked Ms Shaw to take care of that this evening. In the meantime, you can look in on Mr Tao."

Armed with Leon's current whereabouts, Reese ducked down some stairs to a subway station. It would be a reasonably short ride, he figured, followed by about a ten-minute walk to find the little man. Hopefully his latest piece of idiocy would be easy enough to sort out, and then he could head back to base and look in on Joss.

xxxxxxxx

Unsurprisingly, Leon's location turned out to be a seedy bar in a run-down neighbourhood. With a profound sense of deja vu, Reese walked into the bar's dim interior and squinted. Yes, there he was, at a table in the back looking shifty and surrounded by three men. Not especially large men this time, more the scrawny, rodent type. But all of them were carrying. They all looked up at him as he approached. Leon's face lit up. "John! Amigo! Boy, am I glad to see you!"

"Shut up, Leon." Reese reached out and plucked Leon from his chair. Dangling the little crook by his collar, he put a winning smile on his face as he gazed at the group of men in front of him. Not Aryan Brotherhood, but something pretty similar. Yep, deja vu all over again.

He switched his smile to Leon. "Now Leon. How about you return to these nice men whatever it was you stole from them, or I'll hold you down while they hit you."

One of the ratlike ones climbed to his feet. "We don't need your help, boy," he said in pure hillbilly - eastern Kentucky, Reese thought. There was a scrape of chairs as his friends got up. Reese allowed his eyebrows to rise. "I'm sure you don't," he agreed peaceably. "But the thing is, I can't allow you to kill Leon. Now beating him up a bit, that I'm fine with-"

"Hey!" protested Leon.

"- but really, wouldn't you agree that the best solution all round is for Leon to give you back your property, and for me to remove him to some other location?"

The only reply he got was three handguns pointed at him. One was held sideways; he momentarily debated whether to bother with the safety lecture, but it seemed more efficient to simply throw Leon aside, grab the man's gun hand and perform the by now customary kneecapping. Sometimes the old ways were best.

Back out on the street, he spun Leon around and pinned him against a wall. "Okay, Leon. What was that all about?"

"Nothing, John. Honest."

He didn't even bother to reply, just shot Leon a look.

Leon sighed theatrically. "Best piece of good luck I had in years," he grumbled. "See, those bozos asked me to set up a computer network in the rathole they called their HQ. That's my new business, you see. Much less risky than... anyway, in the process I persuaded them to replace the ancient hardware they must have inherited from their great-grandmother – did I mention they're all cousins from some inbred clan of rednecks from the hills somewhere? So I offered to dispose of the old hardware, and then for no reason at all they got all homicidal on me!"

"So where was the good luck in all this, Leon?"

"No good luck! I never said it was good luck!" There was a slight tinge of panic in the little man's voice.

"Leon..." Reese put a world of threat into the single word.

Leon sagged. "Okay, okay. The hard drive on one of their old computers had, like, twenty thousand bitcoins on it."

"Bitcoins? That virtual currency?"

"Yeah. You have any idea how much that's worth?"

"A lot. Now Leon, I know this will probably have no effect whatsoever, but I am not your big brother and I have other things I want to be doing which do not involve being your bodyguard. So shortly I will be getting on the subway and disappearing from your life, I hope permanently. I suggest you find a way to disappear too. The quicker the better. _Do. You. Understand. Me_?" This last was delivered in the most stone-cold menacing manner he could summon. It seemed to work. Leon melted completely.

"Okay John. I really do appreciate you helping me out again. I'll try to do better, honest."

Leon's hangdog expression did not convince him, but Reese knew that was the best he was going to get out of him.

"Right." He let go of the small man. "Now get moving before any enraged relatives of your friends arrive."

Leon nodded vigorously, looked cautiously over his shoulder in the direction of the bar, and began to walk away.

"Oh. Leon?"

A twitchy smile. "Umm. Yes, John?"

"Where is that hard drive right now?"

Leon's hand jerked towards the breast of his jacket.

Reese raised his eyebrows.

"Oh, John. You're killing me, buddy."

Reese said nothing.

"Oh, man. Oh, man." Leon bit his lip in distress. Then he sighed. "I guess I do owe you. Again."

He reached into his jacket and pulled out the drive. Handing it to Reese, he asked plaintively, "Do you think I could come over and walk the dog some time?"

XXXXXXXX

Reese was getting seriously hungry by the time he made it through the commuter crush on the subway and then negotiated the streets towards the refuge. He ran down the steps and rounded the corner to the platform. The bright fluorescent lights from inside the subway car reflected off the ceramic tiles on the station walls. There must be something wrong with him, Reese thought, that it looked homelike.

Finch was sitting stiffly erect in front of the computer screens, of course. Carter was on a laptop, sitting across three seats, back propped against the semi partition next to a door. No sign of Shaw. Bear jumped up from his bed and approached, wagging and grinning. Reese crouched to exchange greetings with the dog.

"So how did things go with Leon, Detective?" asked Finch.

Reese gave a slight shrug. "Nothing out of the ordinary. His latest dissatisfied clients are now off his back and I've strongly suggested he disappear for a while. He gave me this." He stood up and held out the old disk drive.

Finch regarded it in much the same way that he looked at Bear's disemboweled rats. "And this would be...? Apart from a piece of industrial archaeology?"

"It was the bone of contention between Leon and another bunch of wannabe neonazis. Apparently it has twenty thousand bitcoins on it."

Finch's brows rose and he pursed his lips. "If we can recover them it would certainly give us a nice little reserve fund." He took the drive and placed it carefully on the desk, his fingers lingering on it thoughtfully.

"So, Joss. How was your day?" Reese turned his attention to Carter, who had watched the exchange over her laptop screen.

"Well, as you know I called in sick. No apparent problems at work. We'll just have to see what Sameen comes up with when she goes looking at my apartment tonight. I've been looking through my current case load to see if there's anything which might have aroused someone's interest. Nothing so far. I simply can't bring myself to believe it was HR. That ship has sailed, and I just do not believe there are any rats left that weren't cleaned out last year." She nodded to herself, and Reese suppressed a smile. Having seen the meticulousness with which she had collected evidence and planned her campaign, he could only agree. Joss had been nothing if not thorough.

Still... "If it wasn't muggers that only leaves Samaritan, though." He considered. "Nothing to report from my work day. Surely it would target me first – I was the one acting strangely."

"That is encouraging in that it suggests the hard coding is holding - for now at least," said Finch. "Ms Shaw will be reaching Ms Carter's apartment in less than half an hour. We'll know soon."

XXXXXXXX

Shaw's report was brief. No sign of anyone watching the apartment. When she entered there was no sign of disturbance. Mail from the previous day was still undisturbed. "In some ways I hate to say this, Joss," she said, "but I really can't see a reason why you can't just come back here. Nice place, by the way. Nicer than the old one."

"Thanks," replied Joss. "I could really use a shower. I don't feel quite happy, but I can't stay here in limbo any longer either."

"Probably a genuine coincidence, then. I just wish we could be certain," fretted Finch.

"I don't like it either, Harold. But Joss is right. We need to make a decision," said Reese.

"If it was Samaritan and she comes back here it could lure them out of the shadows and we could get a better look," said Shaw.

"No. We're not using her as bait," said Reese flatly.

"But we're running out of choices here. If it's Samaritan it might be our first opportunity to push back," Shaw argued.

"I don't care. We're not using Joss as bait," snarled Reese.

"Well, what the hell do you suggest, John? Keeping her in an abandoned subway station until she grows mushrooms between her toes?"

"If it stops her being killed – again – then yes, Shaw, maybe that's what has to happen-"

"Excuse me, but don't I get a vote here?" Carter seemed more amused than annoyed by the conversation. "I bet between us we can work something out. And I really do need a shower."

"It would be easier to keep an eye on you, Ms Carter, if we had an extra pair of hands on this case," said Finch enticingly.

"Meaning...?" inquired Joss warily.

"Meaning it might be time to reveal your continued existence to Detective Fusco," said Finch.

There was a long pause. Carter shot Finch an exasperated, I-might-have-known look. Reese smirked slightly. Evidently Finch had been applying some pressure during the day. "Soon, Harold. I promise. But not right now," she said.

Reese's stomach gurgled loudly in the silence that followed. Finch politely ignored the sound, but before Reese could apologise Carter chuckled and began to collect her things. "Come on, John. Let's go find a diner and get something to eat before you fall over. And then you can escort me home."

He opened his mouth to argue, but his stomach gurgled again and the light in Carter's eyes told him he was not going to win the argument and that if he tried to continue she would laugh at him. And, dammit, he didn't have the heart to deny her a decent dinner. Maybe he could persuade her not to go to her apartment afterwards – a hotel instead, maybe... At that point his mind started to go off in some completely different directions. Low blood sugar, that was it. Dinner. Dinner...

To be continued...


	4. Chapter 4

They slid into a booth and looked through their menus in silence. By now Reese had reached the point where he no longer cared greatly what he ate as long as it came quickly. Joss stuck with another salad, although for a change she ordered a milkshake to go with it. He went for a mountainous burger and a huge stack of fries. Lunch had been eaten on the run, many hours ago by now, and he figured he needed the carbs.

"I was wondering," Joss said eventually, "why you're not madder at me."

He swallowed heroically. "Why would I be mad?"

"I didn't tell you I was alive."

"You tried. Wasn't your fault I was underground by that time." He loaded up with more fries.

"It's just such a surprise. Everyone else I didn't tell is furious at me. Finch spent half the day trying to persuade me to get in touch with Fusco. I can't even think about that right now."

"Joss, you're going to have to think about it," he said as soon as his mouth was clear. The first onslaught on the burger had taken the edge off his hunger and so he paused before his next bite and studied her face. "The longer you leave him in the dark, the harder it will be for him to forgive you. And if you force me to cover for you then that draws me into it. Lionel and I have come a long way since we met." He didn't really want to admit this, but... "I would hate to lose his trust over this." More burger.

Joss's face was a study in agonized indecision. "But how do I even start with him? I can't just phone the man."

Another swallow. "No, but I could."

"What?" Joss's eyebrows leapt so high they were nearly lost in her hairline.

"I could phone him. Right now. Get it over with."

Joss looked at her plate, then looked up at him. "I bet you were one of those kids who ripped the band-aid right off, huh?"

"Yup. What were you, a slow-peeler?"

She ducked her head, smiling despite herself. He reached across and took her hand. "Joss, I have no idea what Fusco will say or how he will react. All I know is that there's no good purpose in delaying telling him any longer. Whatever happens, will happen." He took a deep breath. "Remember, you're not alone. Even it it all goes sideways and he locks you out, I'm still here for you."

There were tears in Joss's eyes as she looked up at him. "You have no idea... no idea what that means to me, John." She swallowed, and breathed deep. A spark of the old Detective Carter flashed across her face for a moment. "Okay. Call him. But hurry, before I change my mind."

Reese got his phone out and hit Fusco's number. It rang for a long time before he answered.

"Yeah, what?" Fusco's voice at the other end of the line sounded grumpy. Borderline bitchy, in fact.

"Hello, Lionel," purred Reese. "I need you to get over here to Manny's Diner in Brooklyn. There's someone here you want to meet."

"Listen Wonderboy, I just got settled in front of the TV, _An Interesting Person_'s just starting, I got beer and pizza and I ain't shifting. And that's final."

"Lionel, I'm not kidding. You really do want to meet this person."

"No way, Riley. Just for once the answer is 'no', and it's gonna stay 'no'. There's nothing you can say that'll get me off of this couch before my show finishes. Nothing at all."

"Lionel, don't make me do something I'll regret." Reese rolled his eyes. Just his luck that Fusco was choosing this moment of all moments to turn mulish. Joss was starting to make gestures at him across the table, _Stop! Stop! _He shook his head at her.

"You got nothing on me right now, Wonderboy. Don't you pull any of that threatening crap on me, we've been through too much together. Just one evening with the TV, that's all I'm askin' for."

Reese took a deep, calming breath. Time to rip off the band-aid. "It's Carter, Fusco. She's alive and she's here with me at Manny's."

There was a thud from the other end of the line, then scrabbling sounds as Fusco recovered his dropped phone. "You foolin' me, John? 'Cause if you are, I'll, I'll..." Fusco was spluttering with anger.

"No fooling, Lionel. Just get over here. She really wants to talk to you."

"I'm on my way." Fusco ended the call.

Reese looked down at his phone. "Well, we have time for dessert before he gets here, I guess."

Carter, looking pale, rolled her eyes at him.

xxxxxxxx

Joss picked at her dessert, and so Reese finished it for her after polishing off his own. They were waiting with coffee when Fusco's burly figure approached the booth. He slid in next to Reese and gazed in astonishment at Carter, shaking his head in bemusement.

"I, I, I dunno what to say, Joss."

"Me either, Lionel." Joss was smiling and tearful at the same time.

"What the hell happened?"

"Yeah, well a lot of people have been asking me that," she sighed. She explained about the surgery, the pneumonia, the witness protection.

Fusco shook his head again as she finished. "But why didn't you tell me, Carter? You knew I had your back." His voice was rough with pain. "Didn't you trust me?"

Joss's voice was low. "I made a bad decision, Lionel. I was under a lot of stress, I was sick and not thinking properly. But it was still my decision and I made the wrong call. I was wrong not to tell you. I do trust you." She looked very directly at him. "Please. Can you forgive me?"

Fusco looked down at his hands a long moment. Then he gave a short, sharp nod. He blinked rapidly. "Yeah. Yeah, I forgive you, Carter." He drew a deep breath. "But so help me God, if you ever, ever do this again, I'll, I'll..." He stammered to a halt, looking helpless.

"Kill you?" murmured Reese, unable to resist.

Lionel shot him an irritated look. "Look, just don't do it again, okay?" he said to Carter. She nodded, wiping her eyes.

There was a long silence. Words seemed superfluous, and Reese for his part felt drained. "You want coffee, Lionel?" he asked.

"Nah, this late it'll just keep me up all night. I think I might go home, heat up that pizza again."

"Oh. Yeah. Ah, sorry about your show, Lionel," Reese felt compelled to apologise.

A wave of Fusco's blunt hand. "Aw, never mind. I'll get it off Netflix or somethin'." He slid out of the booth. Hesitating, he smiled at Carter. "You stay safe, huh? And call me if you need anything." He touched her arm and turned away. "See you tomorrow, Riley," he said over his shoulder as he made his way out.

"Whew." Reese rubbed his hand over his face. He looked across at Carter. She was sitting hunched over looking utterly exhausted. "You okay?" he asked her.

"Oh, I'm fine." She smiled at him wanly. "You were right, John. I'm glad you made me tell him."

"I know it was hard on you, Joss. But you made the right call," he said gently.

"Yeah. Yeah, I know. But please, John. Will you take me home?" The simple appeal in her eyes was impossible to resist. He could understand the need to find a safe haven, a bolt hole to crawl into._ But Samaritan..._ whispered a part of his brain. He forced himself to think rationally. Shaw had seen nothing earlier in the evening. He could check the place himself, and he fully intended to guard her apartment personally while she slept. Anyone coming to get her would have to go through him first. He nodded.

"Okay, Joss. Let's go."

xxxxxxxxx

They walked slowly down the street together, a companionable silence between them.

"I was thinking last night that I wanted to go for a walk in a park with you," Reese said after a while.

"Instead you get a walk in Brooklyn. Lucky you," replied Joss.

"Oh, I'll take what I can get," he said easily.

"Hm. I'll have to consider what you might mean by that remark, Mr Reese," said Joss, a hint of a smile in her voice.

"Oh, no, no, Joss," he stammered, embarrassed. "I mean-"

"It's okay. Don't sweat it," she said, amused. She stopped walking and pulled him around to face her. "Look, we have more baggage than Grand Central Station right now, stuff coming from all directions. But life is short, John. Nearly dying changed me in a lot of ways. And I think it's the things you don't do which can leave the most regrets." She looked around at the street and then up at his face. "Come on. It's late and I need to get home."

It was another ten minutes before they reached her building. She swiped her card key and opened the front door. "I'm on the top floor," she said.

"I'll come up and make sure no-one's there," he said firmly.

"Why thank you, John." He went in after her, the door clicking shut behind them.

Joss insisted on using the stairs instead of the elevator. That was fine by him - he wanted to check the stairwell in any case. He led her up the four flights, gun in hand. By the time they had got to the fourth floor she was wheezing. Reese hated the sound. It seemed desperately wrong coming from her. He gestured for her to wait and moved towards her apartment door. She passed him her key, and he unlocked the door right-handed, holding his gun before his face.

The apartment was silent and empty as he moved from room to room. A refrigerator in the kitchen switched on with a hum. A car went by on the street below, just a whisper of sound and almost no light this high up. "Clear," he called softly. Joss came in and switched on the lights.

"Well. Here we are then," she said.

Reese put his gun away. "Yeah. Here we are."

The silence stretched.

"Good night, Carter," he said quietly.

"Good night, John."

He turned to leave, but suddenly felt her hand on his arm.

"Wait."

He turned slowly. She was staring at him as though she'd never seen him before. She stepped closer, and then leaned into him. He folded his arms around her and then simply stood like that, holding her, breathing the scent of her hair.

"You smell good," he said after a while.

She raised her head, chuckling. "I do not, I haven't showered in two days now."

He kissed her very gently on the forehead. "Joss, if you want me to, I'll leave now. Or I'll stay. Your call."

She leaned against his chest again. "I think I would like you to stay," she said softly.

To be continued...


	5. Chapter 5

Joss's apartment faced east, and so the sun woke them early the next morning. They hadn't slept much, but they hadn't made love all that much either. Enough, though. He smirked in memory. He was glad his touch had not deserted him. The thought that he might not please Joss had frightened him, but he had been amazed to find that his delight in her had been mirrored by her evident delight in him. They had talked, and touched, and talked some more until finally sleep took them. There was a simple pleasure in being touched by another human being, something... not exactly sexual, but deeply satisfying, Reese had discovered. He wondered why he had never noticed this before. He lay on his side facing her, one arm draped across her. Gentleness, there hadn't been much gentleness in his life – not for a long while – but he had had a whole night of it. He could hardly believe it. Joss stirred, opened her eyes and looked at him. "That wasn't a dream, then," she said, yawning.

"No. No, it wasn't." He was grinning like an idiot. He leaned towards her and kissed her, quite thoroughly.

"Mmmm. That was nice. Maybe I should call in sick again today."

"Stomach flu, huh?" he said teasingly.

"Yeah. A bad one."

"Infectious, too, I bet."

"Yeah. Wouldn't want to spread it around," said Joss thoughtfully.

"Between the NYPD and the DA's office it could bring law enforcement in the city to a halt if it spreads," he agreed.

"Can't have that." She was leaning towards him.

"No indeed. Mmm. Mmmmmm..."

xxxxxxxxx

They made it out of bed for a late lunch. Reese, clad in boxers and undershirt, found eggs and managed to produce a couple of creditable omelets despite the unfamiliar kitchen. He enjoyed cooking, though he seldom had the chance to cook for anyone but himself. He watched Joss demolishing his creation with a warm feeling. He liked feeding her, he decided. She was too thin...a thought suddenly struck him. "Joss. Last night...we never used protection..."

She smiled a little at the suppressed panic in his voice. "No need, John. It's all covered." She paused a moment and then added quietly, "That massive scar from the landmine? The damage inside was pretty bad. My uterus was already compromised from the prior caesarian, and so they took it out. They told me that between the scarring from the caesar and the injuries from the landmine they could never have repaired it adequately. So Taylor will always be my one and only."

Reese was quiet for a moment. She looked sad, but composed. This was an old grief, worn smooth over time to simple melancholy. He felt a slight pang for the mocha-skinned children he would never be able to have with her, then shook himself mentally. _One swallow does not a summer make_, his grandma had sometimes said. One night with Joss and he was thinking of children? Idiot!

His phone, still in his pants pocket on the bedroom floor, began to ring. He went and got it, checking the display as he returned to the kitchen. UNKNOWN CALLER. He answered.

"If you can disentangle yourself, Mr Reese, we would appreciate Ms Carter's presence here. I see she called in sick again." Finch sounded slightly disapproving of Carter's extra sick day.

"Yeah. Reese and Car-ter sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!" Shaw was on the line too, her gleeful voice coming through loud and clear.

He tensed. "You weren't listening in, where you, Shaw?"

"Not after the first half hour or so. Too mushy. Plus it got muffled after your pants hit the floor."

He could feel blood rushing to his face, mingled rage and embarrassment. He opened his mouth and was about to let fly when Joss reached over and took the phone from him.

"Sameen? Joss here. Now I know you people have never respected my privacy before, but up till now I never had a trained assassin at my beck and call. And right now he's looking red in the face and has that expression he gets when he's just about to go kill something. So I very strongly urge you to cease and desist before bad stuff happens. How's Finch going to save the world if you two put each other out of action? C'mon, girlfriend. Time to back off."

There was a sigh from the other end of the phone. "Okay, Joss. Since you ask _so_ nicely."

Joss handed him his phone back, rolling her eyes as she did so. He accepted it reluctantly, looking at it as if it had betrayed him and vowing to take the battery out next time. "Okay, Professor," he said resignedly. "We'll be there as soon as we can."

xxxxxxxxxxx

They stopped by Riley's apartment for fresh clothes for Reese, and so more than an hour passed before they made it to the subway station. Bear wandered out to meet them as they arrived, wagging and looking pleased to see them. Inside the subway car, Shaw lounged on a seat and smirked at them as they came in. Reese could feel his expression becoming wooden. Finch was sitting in his accustomed place at the computer, but leaning over his shoulder was a third figure. Reese's expression congealed further as Root straightened up and shot a bright smile at them.

"Well! Hello, John. And Joss. So nice to see you alive."

Joss was looking in confusion from Root to Reese, Shaw and Finch. "Umm...I'm not sure we've met..." she said uncertainly.

"You might remember me as Doctor Caroline Turing," said Root cheerfully. "But really I'd rather be called Root. Though these days even that is a bit, hmm, fluid."

"Wait, you're the one who kidnapped Harold? Didn't he have you confined to a mental hospital? What are you _doing_ here?" Carter looked rattled, and Reese saw her hand moving towards her jacket pocket.

"Long story," said Root soothingly. "I'm a good guy now. Honestly. Just ask Harold."

Finch nodded reluctantly. "Samaritan has made allies of us, Ms Carter. And Ms Groves has a quite unique relationship with the Machine. I really do believe she's changed from her more...unscrupulous days." His glance at Root said, _You had better not prove me wrong..._

"She was so pleased you survived your shooting, Joss," said Root. "She has quite the soft spot for you, and the big lug. No offence," she added, glancing at Reese.

He decided to ignore the comment. "So why didn't the Machine tell us that Joss hadn't been killed after all?" he asked.

"She works in mysterious ways, John," said Root seriously. Then she tossed her head. "Though actually she thought you would enjoy the surprise. Isn't it always more fun that way? Like opening a present on Christmas morning."

"Ms Groves has given us a plan to head off any trouble from your meeting with Joss the other day, John," said Finch hurriedly, before Reese could work out a reply to this. "I'm currently manufacturing some involvement on Ms Carter's part with some of your old narcotics cases. It's really not that difficult, just changing names on case files and then altering the time stamps on the amendments. Tedious more than anything. Ms Carter, you should probably familiarise yourself with the details of these cases, in case anyone ever questions you about them."

Joss pursed her lips. "Fine, Finch. But I really do more domestic violence work. Won't those narcotics cases look anomalous in themselves?"

Finch looked awkward. "That would be the other thing, Ms Carter. I'm sorry to have to ask this of you, but in future you might need to take the occasional such case again, in order for it to look genuine."

Carter looked far from happy at this, but Finch hastened to add, "The beauty of this is that it gives you and John a completely natural shared history, Joss. What could be more normal than for the two of you to have met in such circumstances? You needn't take any particular pains to hide your relationship, even if it were possible to do so."

Joss threw up her hands in surrender. "Okay, Finch, you've convinced me. Looks like I'll be brushing up my narcotics case law over the next few evenings, then."

Just then Reese's phone vibrated. He saw the call was from Fusco. "Lionel?"

"Yeah, Riley – how's your stomach?"

"Much better, thank you, Lionel," said Reese cautiously.

"Well, then get your ass down here. We have a development in the Veronica Stevens homicide. Another nurse was assaulted early this morning, same MO, same general area. She died an hour ago. The Captain's just come out of her office and she's bustin' my chops on this, so you need to get back in the saddle, flu or no flu and get on top of this one. Okay?"

Reese took this without change of expression. "I'm on it, Lionel. See you in ten." He looked around at the others. "I've been called into the precinct, I'd better go." He hesitated, then thought _It's not like this will surprise anyone after last night_, leaned over to Joss, kissed her on the cheek and turned to leave.

"I'll call you later, John," said Joss. He smiled at her and strode out.

XXXXXXXX

In the event there was very little he could contribute when he arrived at his desk. The forensics weren't yet available for the latest victim, and Veronica Stevens' purse had come back clean of prints other than those of its owner. However, he occupied himself with makework until the end of the shift; at least sitting at his desk making phone calls and typing on the computer gave any observer the impression of eager efficiency. Fusco was worried, though.

"The two cases may not be connected," he warned Reese. "It may be just two random muggings which got extra violent. But I don't like it. Both nurses, both got hit coming on or off shift, in a camera blind spot. I mean, what are the odds? Robbed. In Stevens' case nothing sexual, but with this new one there may have been."

"May have been?" Reese's brows drew together.

"Clothing was disturbed. Rape kit came back negative."

"He's getting bolder," said Reese.

"Gotcha. Maybe the robberies are just to make it look like muggings." Fusco sighed. "Or, maybe we're just seeing things and there's a couple of specially nasty muggers out there. We won't know until we have more information." He gave Reese a sharp glance and lowered his voice. "Glasses wouldn't have any leads, would he? Someone targeting women - right up his alley, right?"

Reese shrugged slightly. "I can ask. Maybe he has an idea or two about the surveillance cameras, some way of getting something more out of them. But we haven't had any special information, if that's what you mean."

"Huh." Fusco looked disappointed. "Ask him, Riley. We wanna get in front of this guy, stop him before someone else gets hurt. That used to be what you guys were all about, wasn't it? Maybe the Walking Dictionary needs to lean on his source a bit."

"Maybe he does," said Reese neutrally.

XXXXXXXX

When he arrived at the subway station Root had gone. Harold was at a desk, a pile of student papers in front of him. Shaw was nowhere to be seen, possibly walking Bear since the dog was missing too.

Finch moved another paper into what was evidently the "finished" pile. He gazed gloomily at the far larger stack awaiting him. "Ms Carter said she was going home and that she would phone you this evening," he said. Reese acknowledged this with a silent lift of his brows. "Any Numbers today?" he asked.

"Not so far," said Finch. "But it's only been a little over twenty-four hours since the last one. A break of up to thirty-six wouldn't be unusual."

"We've got a case going at the precinct," said Reese. "A potential serial killer. Wouldn't the Machine pick that up?"

Finch took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose. Reese wondered briefly, not for the first time, when the man slept.

"Eventually it will pick up almost anything, Mr Reese," he said. "But it works far more quickly when the subject has a digital footprint. The smaller a person's participation in the common, digitally-based life of the community, the harder it is for the Machine to 'see' them, so to speak. A homeless person, with no cell phone and using cash almost all the time, can be very hard to find. I had to wait until Detective Carter ran your prints to locate you three years back. If you genuinely have a serial killer operating, but they have a minimal footprint, eventually the Machine will give us a number associated with them. But it might have to wait until enough evidence from other sources – cameras and such - has accumulated. I fear in this case the police may be working just as quickly as the Machine."

Reese grimaced. This was the first case since he'd moved to Homicide in which he'd felt much interest. _Too late_, his inner demons would whisper with most of his cases. _You missed. You failed. _But if he could out-think this killer he would be able to prevent something for once. _So help me, then_, he thought irritably in the direction of the Machine. Then he brightened slightly. One of the smartest homicide detectives he knew of was going to call him soon. Maybe she wouldn't mind talking a little shop. And even if she did mind, the evening would have other compensations. It was hard to see a downside, really. He told Finch he was going home to the brownstone and walked up the stairs to the outside world, smiling a little.

To be continued...

_Author's note: Well, folks, there's going to have to be a break here of a week or so while I'm out of town attending my Dad's 80th birthday celebrations. Don't worry, there is more to come, and I hope you all are enjoying reading this as much as I am enjoying writing it!_


	6. Chapter 6

"...So we have two homicides with a similar MO, close together in both time and location. Sounds like Fusco's right to have his Spidey-sense tingling," said Joss. She took a sip of her coffee. "No prints on the purse?"

"Just the owner's," said Reese.

"Huh. If your perp had wiped it down there would be no prints at all. So maybe he was wearing gloves – have they swabbed it for fibers?"

Reese made a mental note to follow that one up.

"Get your unis out looking for gloves," she advised. "How about the ME's report on your first vic? What were her injuries like?"

"She died of head trauma from a blunt instrument," said Reese. "Hyoid bone was broken, nothing under her nails. The ME had a theory that she was grabbed from behind, half throttled and then kicked about the head when she was on the ground."

"Hmm. Broken hyoid's pretty much indicative of strangling in some form. Your ME's probably right. They see 'em all down there." She took another sip of coffee. "Shame there was no material under her nails. A nice DNA match, or even some scratch marks on a suspect, would be useful." Reese grunted agreement.

"The kicking, now," she went on. "That's what sets it apart from a robbery gone wrong. A mugger takes the purse and makes himself scarce once she's on the ground. He doesn't stick around to rough her up some more."

Reese leaned back on the couch and interlaced his fingers behind his head. "We're waiting on the ME's report on the second victim," he said. "Patti Sloane. But from what I saw of her file it'll be pretty similar. Really the only major difference between the two is that Veronica was coming off the evening shift from Manhattan General, about midnight, but Patti was on her way to work at about six in the morning."

"Mmm." Carter took another sip. "Time will tell. Except time's the one thing there's never enough of when you've got someone out there looking to do harm."

Reese nodded agreement. "So did you go into your office after I left?" he asked.

"Yeah, they all thought I was incredibly dedicated coming in on Friday afternoon to 'pick up some files'. But with the weekend coming up I really did need them. They keep promising us a paperless office, everything digital, but until they come up with the money I'm still stuck hauling files around if I want to get anything done over the weekend." She sighed, and put down her coffee mug. "To change the subject completely, John," she said, "there was something Finch said this afternoon which got me thinking."

Reese looked a question at her.

Carter examined her fingernails. "He said that with this fix he's putting in, the one which has me supposedly working some of your narcotics cases, that 'we would have no need to hide our relationship', or some such phrase." She looked up at him. "John, what is our relationship?"

He looked up at the ceiling. He had been enjoying this evening, sitting on her sofa with his sock-clad feet stuck out, drinking coffee and chatting. Granted, he was fairly sure most couples didn't discuss the technical aspects of homicide investigations, but still, it had been a marked contrast from most evenings of his experience. "I think this is whatever you want it to be," he said after a moment.

"Friends with benefits? Like with Zoe?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "If that's what you want, yes." But then he blurted, "but I hope...I hope it could...in time, I mean... become more." He turned his head to look at her. She was looking at her fingernails again. She lifted her head and returned his gaze.

"You know, John, witness protection was an eight-month-long nightmare," she said quietly. "I talked to Mom most days, she kept me up with what Taylor was doing. But having to watch from a distance...I hated what I was putting him through. I hurt him, John. I hurt him so badly..." Her eyes glittered. "But next to Taylor, it was you I worried about. When I couldn't contact you, I thought I'd killed you."

He was silent a moment. "It was a bad time," he admitted. "But I got by."

"So where do we go from here?"

He couldn't answer that immediately. She took his silence for something else. "I'm so sorry, John. I'm so sorry. I should never have done what I did, I should have just left it all alone. I should have stood up to Mom, I should have tried harder to find you..." She was crying openly now.

He gathered her into his arms. "Shhh...shhh...It's okay, Joss. You're alive, and so am I. We all made it through."

"Despite Simmons," she said softly.

He smiled. "Despite Simmons, Quinn, HR – all of 'em."

"The best revenge is living well." She sniffed and wiped her eyes.

"So let's live well, then." He covered her mouth with his.

xxxxxxx

His phone rang insistently. _Damn. Forgot to take the battery out._ He groped across the night stand, found it and answered. "We have a number, Mr Reese," said Finch without preamble. He sounded even more clipped and urgent than usual. "Her name is Karen Smith, she's a nurse at Manhattan General, and she goes on shift in approximately three hours." He was instantly awake, swiping a hand across the unfamiliar wall for a light switch. "I'm on it, Finch. Do you have her home address? I'll get straight over there and pick her up when she leaves for work."

"I've already dispatched Ms Shaw, John. You might be best to head to the hospital area instead, and call Detective Fusco. I'm working out her possible routes to work and I'll send you those."

He was grabbing clothes from off the floor as Joss sat up, fully awake by now. "Someone needing a hero?" She was blinking, pushing disheveled hair off her face.

"A nurse from Manhattan General is about to be involved in a bad situation," he said, pulling socks on. "Care to guess what it might be?"

"I'll come too," she said, throwing back the bedclothes.

"No, you should stay here," he said, pausing as he buttoned his shirt.

"I can be back-up, John. I can't run but I can drive the car and I'm still a pretty good shot."

"Joss, I would prefer it if you stayed here," he said carefully.

"I'm coming, John. That's final." She was pulling on jeans and prodding under the bed with her foot for her shoes as she spoke.

He considered his options as he shrugged his suit jacket on. Short of handcuffing her to the bed – an alluring thought in any other context – he couldn't think of any way to prevent her from coming. "Alright, but I want you to stay in the car. With the doors locked," he said, sounding like the father of a teenage daughter even in his own ears. Carter evidently felt the same way. "Yes, Daddy," she said meekly.

xxxxxxx

It was a cold early autumn night as they left Joss's building. As Joss drove, Reese pulled out his cell phone and hit Fusco's number. It rang for a long time before Fusco answered with an incoherent mumble. "Fusco? Finch's source has come through with a lead on our perp. Get down to Manhattan General as fast as you can."

This apparently jolted Fusco awake. "I'm on my way, John," he said much more crisply.

Finch came onto the line over his ear piece. "Ms Shaw is now at Mrs Smith's apartment, John. I believe Mrs Smith will walk to the subway stop closest to her home and then get off at the hospital station. She then has a five minute walk to the north entrance of the hospital campus. There are two camera blind spots on the route, I'm sending you the locations now."

xxxxxxxx

A trickle of early morning commuters came up the stairs from the subway station. Reese glanced rapidly from face to face. Which was Karen Smith? Finch hadn't sent an image yet. He tapped his ear piece. "What does she look like, Finch? Got a picture for me?"

"Not at this point, Mr Reese," said Finch apologetically.

"Doesn't matter, I've got eyes on her," came Shaw's voice. "Black woman, five four, one-twenty, black tote bag, red coat."

Reese fell into step thirty feet behind her, a discreet tail. No point scaring off their quarry, though a part of him hated using this woman as bait. Still, he was confident that he could keep her safe - with Shaw, Fusco and himself surrounding her, plus Carter as wheel man, surely the risk was minimal? Shaw was only a few yards away, hair tucked up under a baseball cap. She looked like a fast food worker coming in for the breakfast shift. Together they followed the nurse along the street, at first well lit, but then changing quite abruptly as they turned down a side street. There was less street lighting here, and it was a much more utilitarian space, just a convenient route from one place to another, devoid of shops or cafes to encourage people to linger, even if it had been daylight.

Their hastily-concocted plan called for Reese and Shaw to follow Karen Smith from the subway station to the hospital entrance, where Fusco and Carter waited, hopefully trapping their target in between. But they were approaching the first camera blind spot and Reese could see no sign of the killer. Was he even there? They walked on. Shaw fell back a little, the better to maintain the illusion of three random workers heading for three different destinations.

As they came close to the second blind spot everything suddenly went completely black. Power had gone out to the entire block, Reese realized as he froze, listening. A rustle of clothing from up ahead, then a grunt and the sound of a struggle. Shaw had a flashlight on, picking out the shape of two people locked together just down the street. A man holding a struggling woman from behind, his arm across her throat. As Reese charged forward the woman went limp and began to slide to the ground. The man let his victim drop and dodged away from the light and into the shadows as he realized Reese was approaching; the wobbling beam of the flashlight picked up a brief glimpse of a white face, dark clothing and sneakers before he was past them and running back up the street. Reese spun and sprinted after the man, leaving Shaw to attend to the injured nurse. He drew his weapon as he ran, but it was too late. His quarry had dodged down some alley or side street - or maybe even into a doorway, it was so dark it didn't much matter. He tapped his ear piece. "He's gone, Shaw."

"Well." Shaw's voice sounded flat. "Crap."

xxxxxxxx

After the ambulance had arrived and the nurse was taken away, they fell back and regrouped at McDonald's. The brightly lit interior made no-one feel any better, but at least there was coffee, of a sort. The counter staff were uninterested in stray early morning customers and occupied themselves cleaning in the kitchen. Even better, the lone surveillance camera was out of action, dull and blank.

"What the hell happened?" asked Fusco as they seated themselves.

"The power went out to about a block and a half," said Reese. "He got away from us in the dark."

"That's awful convenient," said Carter.

"You can say that again," said Shaw. "Maybe he's got someone helping him."

"Anything's possible," said Carter. "But it seems unlikely. Serial killers are almost always loners. Could he have rigged some kind of cut-out himself? Like an emergency measure?"

"A get out of jail free card? Finch, what do you think?" Reese asked.

"I'll have a look at the possibility, Ms Carter, but it seems unlikely," replied Finch via the phone on the table in front of them.

"Yeah, well I'll tell you somethin' else weird," said Fusco. "Captain Moreno ordered an increase in foot patrols in the area of the hospital, but I ain't seen one single uni since I got here. This place oughta be crawling with cops. Where are they all?"

"Good question, Lionel. We need to find out." Reese felt tired and off balance. At least they had prevented a murder, but he had hoped they would have a killer in custody by now.

"Did you get a look at him?" Carter asked.

"Not really," said Shaw. "Male, five ten, maybe one sixty. White. Dark clothes."

"He was wearing pale coloured sneakers," Reese added.

"Not much to go on. Smith was grabbed from behind, just like the ME thought the others were. She won't be able to describe him." Carter yawned suddenly. "Thank God it's Saturday today. I think I need a day in bed."

Reese caught Shaw's eye before she could make any response; Fusco, missing this, yawned too and said, "I'm supposed to be taking Lee to a preseason hockey game tonight. I'm goin' home. Lemme know if anything else comes up, okay?" He slid out of the booth. Shaw followed him. As they left, Carter shot an amused glance at Reese.

"What?" he asked her.

"Is it true you kneecapped someone shooting into a crowd from on top of a bus?" she asked.

"Yeah."

She was shaking her head slowly.

"Have you been talking to Fusco?"

"Yes. There wasn't much to do at our end, so we got talking. You know you can't do things like that, John."

"So I was told at the time."

She eyed him skeptically.

"What, Carter?"

"I know that look. It's the one you get when you're not listening."

"Look, I haven't done it since," he said defensively.

She looked severe."You know what Fusco said to me? He said 'You gotta talk to him, Carter. You and Glasses are the only ones he listens to, and I ain't so sure about Glasses.'" Her imitation of Fusco's aggrieved tone was precise. "So consider yourself talked to."

Reese bridled at this. "I already got the lecture from Fusco. I don't make a habit of shooting people, but I'm not going to hold off if it's necessary. I'm trying to save lives, here." He didn't like the whiny tone his voice was taking on, but he couldn't understand why Fusco was going to Carter about this. He'd been fairly restrained of late, hadn't he?

"Don't worry, John." She grinned suddenly. "I told him you don't listen to me either."

He glared at her, then realized he'd been had. "Come on, Joss. Let's go home." He took her hand and they rose and went out onto the street. Dawn was breaking, and the early newspapers were out.

"Oh, no," said Joss. She was staring at the headline on the _New York Journal_. SERIAL KILLER STALKS MANHATTAN. "It's gonna really hit the fan now, John."

Reese could only nod dismayed agreement.


	7. Chapter 7

They bought a newspaper, picked up Joss's car and drove to the neighborhood of the subway station. As he read, Reese's heart sank. There was no doubt, Moreno was going to be furious.

When they reached the station they found it deserted, the metal gate pulled across and everything dark and silent. Apparently Finch was as exhausted as everyone else and had gone home to sleep. They pulled the gate open, switched on the lights and sat down dejectedly in the subway car. Reese considered whether it was worth waking Finch for this and decided to let him sleep.

"I need my whiteboard," said Joss grumpily. "Can't think without it."

"We have a window," Reese offered.

Carter walked rapidly over to the desk, grabbed a marker pen and began to write. "Okay, we know our killer has a minimal digital footprint. We know they have some sort of connection with Karen Smith, since the Machine sent her number, am I right? "

She looked in Reese's direction for confirmation, and he nodded.

"We know he blacked out a whole city block, so he has connections or expertise or both." She stepped back and looked at what she had written. "Not much to go on," she said. "But sooner or later he'll make a mistake. Every little piece of information gets us that little bit closer to him." She shot an encouraging smile in his direction, then turned back to the window. She put out a finger to rest on Karen Walker's name. "That's your entry point. The Machine gave us her number. There's a connection there, he plotted to kill her so he must know her, or at least know of her existence. So we need to investigate Karen Smith. Friends, family, workmates." She paused again. "But not so much family. If the killer was someone close to her she'd have been the first victim, not the third. So someone a bit more fringe in her life. A workmate?..." Her brow furrowed as she thought intently.

Just then Reese's phone went. He pulled it out and saw with dismay that it was Moreno calling.

"Captain?" he answered carefully.

"Riley, I need you down here right now," she said without preamble. Obviously she had seen the papers.

xxxxxxx

As it happened, Moreno wasn't that worried about the media reports of the killings. She wasn't pleased, but she seemed to regard the situation as a breach of media protocol rather than a leak as such. "We have people to deal with that stuff," she told Riley. "As long as they stay far, far away from me, everyone's happy."

He nodded gratefully.

"No, it's much worse. Look at this." She pushed a piece of paper across her desk to him. "A _Journal_ reporter got this via email about an hour and a half ago."

The paper said

RUN RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN

YOU CANT CATCH ME IM THE GINGERBREAD MAN.

Underneath this it said THE NEXT ONE WILL BE SHOT :-)

He was lost for words as he gazed at the note. Moreno watched him grimly. "As you can see, Riley, this turns it into a whole new ball game. This guy is taunting us, and there's no way I can get the _Journal_ to sit on the story for more than twenty-four hours." She looked hard at him, slipping a piece of nicotine gum from its pack and inserting it into her mouth. "So tell me about this morning," she added through her gum. "I see you haven't filed a report yet."

Riley shrugged his shoulders. He figured he would get a little leeway under the circumstances – it was less than three hours since the attack on Karen Smith, and he had fully intended to file the paperwork that day. Truly.

"I had a gut feeling that he might be operating again early this morning," he said, "and so Fusco and I went down to see if he would show in one of the camera blind spots. We got lucky in that we prevented a murder, but the whole block lost power suddenly and he slipped past us in the dark. I think that's what the note means. I went sprinting after him but I lost him." He devoutly hoped Moreno wouldn't examine that "I had a gut feeling" statement too closely. It seemed a pathetically thin veil over the truth, but it was all he could come up with on the spur of the moment and with far too little sleep lately. Hoping to distract her, he added "Weren't there supposed to be extra foot patrols in the area last night? There seemed even fewer unis than usual when we were down there."

Moreno frowned. "There should have been a cop on almost every corner. Thanks, Riley. I'll follow that up." She made a note on her scratch pad. "The reporter who received the note wants an interview. She doesn't usually cover crime stories, but this one's shaping up to be so sensational she evidently can't resist it. And with the killer contacting her like this I guess she has a right. We've taken her entire computer system away for the forensic techs to look at, which she wasn't at all happy about, so we need to try to keep her sweet. Here's her number, you better get on it today." She passed another slip of paper across to Riley. He saw the name on it and nearly choked. Maxine Angelis. A former Number. The reporter he'd dated briefly, trying to protect her without giving himself away. The one who'd wanted to put The Man in The Suit on the cover of every newspaper in the country.

xxxxxx

"Oh, my," said Finch as they sat in the subway car. Joss had gone home to sleep, and Shaw was nowhere to be found. "This is an extremely tricky situation."

"You can say that again," said Reese grimly. He was beginning to feel like a deer caught in the headlights. "I could send Fusco to do the interview, but it would really only delay things. If she's covering the case she's bound to see me sooner or later."

"Any chance she might not remember you?" Finch glanced up at him and answered himself. "No. Not really." He sighed. "We have only two choices, John. We could draw her to the inside by telling her the truth, or at least some portion of it." His mouth tightened - in distaste at the thought of voluntarily disclosing information, perhaps. "Or we could find some sort of cover story which would explain why you're a homicide cop and not an actuary." He stared absently at the computer screens in front of him. "One choice is extremely dangerous, the other even more so. A devil's alternative."

"Well, we need to make a fast decision, Finch. I could maybe spin things out until tomorrow, but no longer."

Finch considered for a long moment. "I think," he said slowly, "that the best option is to stick as closely as possible to your new cover identity. You were never really an actuary, you were an undercover narcotics cop."

"So why was I dating her?"

"The dates were genuine, but you were unable to disclose your true occupation and in any case wanted to impress her with wealth and sophistication. That flashy car you arrived in was from the evidence lockup."

"My apartment?"

Finch thought for a moment, then smiled slightly. "A wealthy, somewhat secretive contact was generous enough to loan it to you for a few days."

"The dog?"

"Oh, the dog's genuine. If it ever becomes necessary, Bear can spend a few days at Riley's place. But it hardly seems it will be necessary. You now have a significant other, an ADA who worked on some of your narcotics cases before your promotion to Homicide, and you'll only be seeing Ms Angelis in a business capacity during this case." He sat back, looking pleased at this recital.

Reese sat still for a moment, turning all of this over in his mind. It seemed to hold water, but there was something one of the ADA's he'd met liked to say – what was it? _It's the cast iron alibis which sink the fastest._ After a long pause in which he sought for, and failed to find, any serious holes in the story, he nodded. "I guess I'd better call her, then."

xxxxxx

Angelis was happy to come over to the Eighth and interview him in a conference room there. As he'd expected, she did a classic double-take when he met her at the front desk to escort her upstairs. Then her brows drew in. "John Anderson? What are you doing here?"

He smiled weakly. "Umm, Ms Angelis, Maxine...I guess I need to explain a few things." He held the "Authorized Personnel Only" door open for her and steered her up the stairs to the second floor. The small meeting room they were to use had only a table and four chairs – not even a coffee machine. He closed the door behind them and pulled a chair out for her.

She had obviously been thinking fast during the brief walk up the stairs, and she stared hard at him. "You weren't an actuary. I always had a feeling you weren't what you said you were."

He gave an embarrassed grin. "No, I wasn't one. I just thought it sounded like a high-paying job which would impress the ladies."

"So what were you really?" Her eyes were hard and suspicious.

"I was a narcotics cop, working undercover in the financial district trying to infiltrate a designer drug racket. I couldn't tell you any of that, of course. I'm sorry for the deception." He managed to inject the right amount of chagrin into his tone, he thought. Angelis looked slightly mollified.

"To be honest," he was inspired to add, "I was a little relieved when you broke things off. I was finding it harder and harder to live a lie with you. It was hard enough in my working life without bringing constant deception into my private life as well." He clenched his jaw a little and allowed his eyes to go slightly misty.

Angelis relaxed a little. "So when did you become a homicide cop?" she asked, flicking through her cellphone's list of apps to find the voice recorder.

"Just a few months ago. I had a lucky break, made a big bust and got promoted." He watched her carefully. She seemed to have bought the story, for the time being at least. Doubtless she would do some checking – he would in her position – but what he had told her would hold up. Most of his record as an undercover cop was heavily redacted for anyone apart from IAB and the FBI, and he didn't think she had sources in either of those. Certainly not the FBI anyway - after the Zambrano fiasco her name was pretty much mud in that quarter.

After that the interview ran on rails. No, they had no firm leads at present. He mentioned the possibility of the killer using gloves, cautioning her to withhold that information in her story. He exuded confidence that the NYPD could and would catch this deviant before he could strike again. She knew about the morning's work thanks to the time-honoured tradition of chasing ambulances and listening in to police coms. He modestly disclaimed any particular merit in his actions – that part was easy enough to put across, he was still smarting from the morning's defeat – but agreed that it would be necessary for the staff of Manhattan General to be exceptionally vigilant until the killer was caught. That brought them to the matter of the note.

"Do you see any significance in the way the note was worded?" she asked. "I couldn't help but notice the absence of any punctuation."

He smiled cynically. "Apart from the fact that we can eliminate English teachers from the list of suspects, no." She looked surprised. "My gut feeling is that this guy likes to tease," he explained. "He may well have taken out the punctuation just to get us running around looking for significance in the fact. Until I can see some good reason to, I'm not going to waste much energy trying to figure that bit out."

She nodded at this. "So what about the last bit? That the next one would be shot."

"That would represent a departure from his established MO, which would be unusual in a killer of this sort. We just need everyone to stay calm, live their lives normally and take sensible precautions..." He went into a little riff of the standard platitudes offered by the Department. Moreno had people to handle this sort of thing, he thought to himself. Why didn't he?

At last the interview ended. He conducted Angelis to the door, smiled as he said goodbye, yes of course you have my number, feel free, any time at all...He almost melted with relief as she vanished around the corner to the visitor car parking. It was over.

xxxxxx

By the time he had made it back to the brownstone and showered it was late afternoon. He caught up with Finch briefly by phone. The older man was relieved to hear the interview had gone off smoothly and that Angelis had appeared to buy the story, but he agreed with Reese that Angelis would need to be closely watched for the next few weeks to make sure she didn't stray too close to the truth. Finch was worried that she might have a contact in IAB who could access Riley's unredacted file, but he agreed that it was a risk they had to take.

Reese realised as he lay back on his bed that he hadn't had a full night's sleep since he had run into Carter in the lift at the court house – how many nights ago? Four, or five? The daylight was only beginning to fade when he drifted off to sleep.

By some miracle he slept right through to the morning. It was just getting light as he stirred, woken by an achingly distended bladder. His phone began to ring as he made it back from the bathroom. Fusco. With a sigh, he answered.

"Riley? We got another development." Fusco sounded grim.

Reese's heart contracted. "Tell me, Lionel."

"We got another body. This one over at City General. A nurse, just off shift, assaulted in a camera blind spot."

Reese's jaw clenched. "Oh, no."

"It gets worse. This one was choked and beaten about the head. Then shot, execution-style. And this time, raped, either pre- or postmortem."

He swallowed bile, unable to speak, and swore to himself that he would not stop until he had his hands on the bastard who could do this to an innocent woman.

"Riley? You okay?"

"I'm fine, Lionel," he forced himself to say. "I'll be down at the precinct in twenty."

To be continued...


	8. Chapter 8

The mood in the precinct when Riley arrived was extremely grim. A Sunday morning was generally a fairly quiet time, just the leftovers of the Saturday night rush to deal with. This Sunday felt different. Moreno had called in half her roster to provide extra hands in dealing with the nurse-killer. There was a buzz of conversation and a purposeful ebb and flow of people moving between desks, taking cell phone calls, entering or accessing data on laptops, tablets and fixed computer terminals. An observer might be forgiven for imagining that all this concentrated effort would surely catch the killer. Riley knew enough by now to know that this was completely wrong.

Fusco was at his desk staring at his computer screen. He looked up as Riley approached and twitched a forced smile at him. "The file's on your desk, John," he grunted, and turned his attention back to his screen. Riley slumped into his chair and pulled the file on the latest body towards him. Dominique Riviera, 32, divorced with two young children. There was nothing in it he especially wanted to read, but he forced himself to pay attention to the details of the latest attack. The devil was in the detail.

The killer was no longer making any attempt at camouflaging his activities. There was no token robbery. But suddenly Riley felt a surge of hope. Much as he hated to admit it, the rape offered a chance to catch this man. Because a rape left behind DNA... "Lionel, when will the forensics be back from the rape kit?" he asked.

Fusco glanced up. "Not for a week or so. And don't get your hopes up. This guy's been flyin' under the radar, so there may not be anything else on him in the system. A DNA sample'll come in useful once we have a suspect, but until then, well - it's only any good if there's somethin' to match it _to_." He turned his attention back to his computer screen.

Riley went back to the file. A week was far too long. At this rate the perp could have killed half a dozen more times in that period. But apart from the possible future lead there was nothing more in the file. He returned to the surveillance camera footage from the first two murders. The killer must be on there somewhere...but after several hours of intent staring he had achieved nothing except an incipient migraine and a strange blurred patch in the centre of his vision.

An email alert blinked in the top left-hand corner of his computer screen. He checked his inbox. A message copied to him from Maxine Angelis.

RUN RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN

YOU CANT CATCH ME IM THE GINGERBREAD MAN.

I THINK ILL STAB THE NEXT ONE. :-)

xxxxxxxx

The Monday morning newspaper held even worse, if that were possible.

"The NYPD's handling of a major manhunt has been more reminiscent of the Keystone Kops than anyone, in or out of the Department, can feel comfortable with," Moreno read aloud. "At first misidentifying the killings as muggings gone wrong, the NYPD has assigned a former Narcotics investigator with only three months' experience in Homicide to what will surely be one of its most important cases in decades. Detective John Riley, in charge of the investigation into the Gingerbread Man, is confident that he can catch the killer, despite admitting he has no leads. In the meantime, the taunting email sent early Saturday morning – still untraced - has been followed by another in the wake of the latest murder." Moreno dropped the copy of the _New York Journal_ onto her desk as if it was a dead skunk. "Jesus, Riley, what the hell did you say to her? You were supposed to keep her sweet!"

He spread his hands helplessly. "Captain, I followed the media protocol-"

"But you admitted you had no leads? How did you think that was going to go down? For God's sake, Riley, she's a goddamned investigative reporter who's been around this town a long time. You may have been buried up to your ass in a narcotics case for years, but let me assure you, batting your eyelashes at her and depending on your chiseled good looks was never going to cut it." Moreno leaned back in her chair and sighed. "Alright, Fusco can handle her in future. If she does corner you, you offer no comment even if she's just asking about the weather." She eyed him without favour, and then sighed again. "Okay, get outta here. And try to scrape up a lead from somewhere. We're grasping at straws here."

He made a dignified retreat from Moreno's office and went back to his desk. Fusco eyed him sympathetically. "Captain tear you a new asshole, huh?"

Riley nodded ruefully.

"Aw, don't sweat it, John. Happens to us all sooner or later." He eyed the clock on the wall. "C'mon, it's nearly lunch time. What say we go find a good falafel stand and take a walk, might get the brain cells workin' a bit faster."

Something in him rebelled at accepting Fusco's pity, and he shook his head. "You go ahead, Lionel. I need to finish up here first."

xxxxxx

By mid-afternoon there was nothing further he could do at the precinct. He couldn't bear the thought of returning to the empty brownstone, and so he caught the subway to one of the closer stations to the den and walked. He was almost there when his cell went; Joss wanted to know how things were going. When he told her she said, "I'm coming down there."

"Thanks, Joss, but that's not necessary-"

"No, it's not, but I'm still coming down."

"Are you getting invested in this case too? That's probably a bad idea," he told her.

There was a pause at her end. "If you really don't want me..."

"No, of course I do. It's just-" Just what? _I don't want you to hurt like I'm starting to hurt over this?_ "I'm just worried you'll get hurt. This one's getting personal for me." There. The truth out in the open; let her make of it what she would.

"It's a tough one all right, John. But I would really like to help you out if I can. And besides, this is a chance for me to be a cop again."

Put like that, he couldn't refuse. She must have been on her way over in any case, since it was only a few minutes before she came down the stairs to the station. Finch was still absent along with Bear, and Shaw was apparently taking a day off. Carter moved over to her window. "Which hospital did your new vic work at again?" she asked.

"City General."

"Not Manhattan General like the others?"

"No. He's widened his area of operations."

"It might be your big break, though," she said, suddenly excited. "We know he knew Karen Smith because the Machine gave out her number. That tells us he's not just targeting people at random, he's going for specific individuals. So we're looking for someone who knew both this cluster of nurses at Manhattan General-" she drew a big dot in the left-hand bottom of the pane and labeled it MG "- and Dominique Riviera at City General -" another big dot labeled CG in the right-hand bottom. "We look of someone who had contact with both hospitals-" a slanting line up from one dot, another slanting line from the other, forming an inverted V. She stabbed triumphantly at the intersection of the two lines. "That's our perp."

"Unless Riviera had recent contact with Manhattan General," commented Reese. "But I don't think she did, I think she'd been working at City for about four years." A great wave of relief swept through him. A lead at last! He found himself hugging Joss very tightly from sheer relief.

"This is Finch's area of expertise," Reese commented. "I'll get him onto it." He slipped out his phone to call Finch, but just as he was about to hit the number, Finch himself arrived, his uneven footsteps echoing across the station platform as Bear paced at his side.

"Good afternoon Detective, Ms Carter," he nodded to them both. "We have another Number."

Reese came back to earth with a start. "Can Shaw work this one, Professor?" He asked. "I may have a lead on this serial killer."

Finch regarded him in his birdlike manner. "Since I no longer pay you, Mr Reese, it seems only fair that you choose your own priorities. As it happens, this number is a little peculiar. When it came through I could see at once that it's not a social security number. In fact, I really can't work out what the number refers to at all, and until I can figure it out the question of how we work it is rather moot." He was booting up his computer as he spoke. Reese could see the abstracted look of Finch's computer trance settle over the other man's face, and knew there was no point in trying to distract him now. Like a teenager wanting to borrow the car, he would have to wait for the right moment to ask Finch to run down Joss's lead. In the mean time, he rather thought having Carter back to the brownstone for dinner might be a good move.

He cooked them both pasta, nothing very fancy, and they ate in near silence with the TV news on, both absorbed in their own thoughts until the coverage of the Gingerbread Man murders came on. They both stared in astonishment at the screen. Fusco was taking the press conference, and Reese found himself envying the man's ability to project the bluff, no-nonsense persona of a New York cop. "'You can't catch me, I'm the Gingerbread Man'. Detective Fusco – doesn't that taunt make you angry?" One reporter wanted to know.

"Yeah, well just remember what happened to him at the end of the story," Fusco shot back. "Maybe this creep never read that far." The assembled reporters laughed, and the news presenter passed on to the next story about striking city garbage collectors.

After they washed up the dishes, still in near silence, they sat down on his lumpy sofa. Joss glanced across at him. "C'mon John. You can't bear the weight of the world on those shoulders all the time." He leaned towards her so their shoulders touched. "I hate playing catch-up. Guess working with Finch spoiled me. I got used to always being one step ahead."

She said nothing, just took his hand, interlaced their fingers and squeezed. They sat like that for a long time.

xxxxx

He felt better the next morning. A decent night's sleep, curled around Joss's warm body. They'd awakened early, but put the time to good use. He was relaxed and rested. What was more, he'd contacted Finch and explained Joss's insight to him; Finch was trawling for data from the whole range of sources he could access and setting his computer system to cross-matching data sets. He was confident that he would have a result by the end of the day. The relief almost made Riley want to dance. The only cloud on his horizon – and it was a big cloud – was the knowledge that the Gingerbread Man was going to strike again soon. He prayed Finch's programme would deliver a name in time.

Arriving at the precinct, he was hanging up his overcoat when Fusco came over.

"Hey Riley, a word," he said.

They went into a vacant interview room.

"Just so you know," said Fusco quietly, "Moreno's worried. You remember how there were no unis the other morning when we went hunting our man down by Manhattan General?"

Riley nodded, suddenly tense.

"Well, it seems Moreno had ordered a big increase in foot patrols in that area. But a computer glitch meant her request just vanished. Her PC's got a copy of the memo, but there's no record of the overtime request or the alterations to the roster being entered into the system. The high-ups are bustin' her balls about this, lookin' for a scapegoat, right? And that Angelis broad aint helping. But it's like when the lights went out for the perp. Real convenient. You gotta wonder – is there someone on the inside helping this creep? Watching over him the way Glasses watched over you?"

Riley could only shrug his shoulders in worried bemusement.


	9. Chapter 9

The day passed with agonising slowness. Riley reviewed case files from all three murders and the assault on Karen Smith, and tried to restrain himself from calling Harold. At lunch time he cracked under the pressure and pulled his phone out to call him, but it vibrated in his hand and he answered.

"I thought you might appreciate an update, Detective," came Harold's voice. "But I'm afraid I have no news on either of our current concerns. The data match is proceeding, and I still cannot determine what the number I received actually refers to." He sounded frustrated, a state of mind Riley fully shared. Carter called soon afterwards, and they exchanged some meaningless platitudes before she ran out of lunch break and had to end the call. He strode restlessly back into the bullpen and continued his paperwork.

It was almost the end of the shift when his phone buzzed again. UNKNOWN CALLER. His hands were shaking slightly as he picked it up and answered.

"I have good news and bad news," said Harold.

He breathed in carefully. "Tell me, Professor."

"The data match has failed to come up with a name for us," said Harold. The disappointment hit him like a physical blow.

"What? But, Harold-"

"-but it has come up with a face. We just don't have a name to match with it." Finch sounded puzzled and apologetic. "I'm sending it to you now."

The camera angle had not helped much. The blurry black and white photo showed a white male wearing some sort of overall and a baseball cap which obscured his forehead and one eye. He had light coloured sneakers on. There were no logos visible on either cap or overalls, but they had the flavour of some kind of uniform. Riley beckoned Fusco over.

"Lionel, Finch's source has come up with a picture for us," he said in a low voice.

Fusco stared hard at the image. "Where'd he get this?" he asked.

Riley shrugged, blank faced, and Fusco grimaced. "Yeah, yeah, it's the secret source that's never wrong. I get it. But without a legitimate origin we can't circulate this picture to anyone else, and we can't use it to establish probable cause either."

"Well, it's better than nothing," Riley defended Finch.

"I ain't arguing, John, but I'm just pointing out we need to keep this one to ourselves until we got some other evidence to back it up."

Riley nodded agreement. "How's the other matter going?" he said to Harold.

"Very slowly, Detective. I've run through every US database I can access, even Defense and the CIA. Now I'm starting on the international ones, but that will take all night, most probably. I fear that by the time I've even identified the number it will be too late." He sounded despondent.

"Well, call me if there's any progress, Harold," said Riley. He wished he could think of something encouraging to say, but words failed him and he ended the call.

Xxxxxx

At the end of the shift he went with Fusco to a small bar not too far from his apartment. They sat over club sodas. Reese was sure the Gingerbread Man would strike again that night. It had been forty-eight hours since his last attack, which meant he was almost overdue. Whatever twisted motivation was driving him, the pressure must be building by now. After an hour or so Carter joined them. They chatted inconsequentially for a long time, trying to ignore the tension in the air.

"Streets are getting dirty with all the garbage men on strike," said Joss, gazing out the window at some paper blowing past in the wind.

"You can't blame those guys for striking, though," said Fusco. "The new pay system the city put in for them can't get it right. Three months now they've been gettin' overpaid, underpaid or not paid at all. Poor bastards are getting mortgage payments bounced, having to pay back money that shouldn't be there...I'd go on strike too if I was them."

Reese listened to this with only half an ear. He was trying desperately to put himself in the shoes of the Gingerbread Man. His victim was already marked out, that was a given. But where? Manhattan General, or City General? Or some other hospital? There were dozens of hospitals and clinics in Manhattan, let alone the rest of the city. The camera blind spots, they were obviously key to his MO. Somewhere where nursing staff passed through, close to the hospital, with one or more blind spots, presumably with multiple possible escape routes... But that went nowhere near far enough in paring down the possibilities. There would be dozens, if not hundreds of sites like that scattered through the city.

A very early memory surfaced. He had been a young child, maybe two or three years old. Some grownup had given him a ball to play with, but it had been too big. His arms couldn't reach around it, and his hands couldn't get a grip on it. When it rolled away he'd tried desperately to grab it somehow, but it kept sliding and rolling away from him. Funny, he couldn't even remember the colour of that ball, just the feeling of utter frustration, and the laughter of the grownups at his efforts to recapture it.

The twilight outside deepened into night. At last Fusco looked at his watch and said apologetically, "Well, I might head home about now. Might as well wait on things there as here. 'Night, Joss, John." He slid off his stool and made his way out, nodding to them both.

Reese met Carter's eyes. "Your place or mine?" she asked with a smile. The tightness in his chest loosened just a little.

Xxxxxx

They ended up at her place again. He really could get used to this, Reese thought as he lay exhausted in Joss's bed. They'd had a shower. A shared shower. Soap. Who would have thought what miracles could be achieved with ordinary soap...? He drifted off into a satiated sleep.

He woke in the middle of the night – not wakened by his phone for once. He listened to Joss's breathing. It came softly, not quite as deep and slow as the rhythm of her normal sleeping breaths. He was struck again by the miracle of this. He could listen to her as she lay sleeping. Or not, as the case might be. "Are you awake?" he whispered very quietly so as not to wake her up if he was mistaken. A pause, then she whispered back, "Yes. You're supposed to be sleeping."

"Can't," he whispered, a little louder.

"You sound like Taylor used to when he was small," she said a little sadly.

"Do not," he said, just to see if he could make her laugh. She chuckled.

"You know, John, we never finished our conversation the other evening," she said quietly.

"Mmmm?"

"The one where I asked where we were going to go from here."

He reached one arm around her and snugged her into his side. He'd been expecting her to revisit that conversation, and he'd spent some time working out his answer. "Joss, you remember the night Bottlecap tried to shoot you? Remember what I said to you then?"

She lay there silent a moment. "You said whether I liked it or not you had my back, and I wasn't alone."

He traced her jawline with one finger. "Nothing that has happened since, nothing at all, has changed that. You're stuck with me. Even if the day comes when you wake up in the morning and decide you hate my guts and kick my ass to the kerb, I will still have your back. So whatever you decide you want from me, Joss, I will give it to you if it's in my power. And whatever you decide you can give me, I will take with gratitude, but that part's up to you. I've already decided what I'm going to do."

She lay still. "Wow." Her voice was very quiet. "You sure know how to lay it on the line, John."

"It's what I'm good at," he agreed.

"Well, let me tell you my side." She propped herself up on one elbow to face him, though it made little difference in the darkness. "You are a good man. You don't have to prove that to me, you don't have to atone for anything as far as I'm concerned. I know that you're still stuck on this crusade, this mission you and Finch have imposed on yourselves. And you'll probably both still be on that mission on the day you die, though I hope one day before that you'll be able to lay your burden down. But whether you do or not, I want to be with you, at your side. Right to the end. So it's kind of the same for me, John. You're stuck with me."

He pulled her close again, and they held each other for a long, long time.

Then his cell phone rang.

Xxxxxx

He and Joss clattered down the stairs to the subway station. Shaw was already there, lying on the cot which she had set up again. Obviously she was expecting action later in the night, but like any soldier she was resting while she could. Finch was barely able to wait for them to enter the subway car before he began speaking.

"The number was from an expired Australian passport, Mr Reese. Philip James Trent, an escaped murderer and child molester. He managed to evade the Australian authorities and made it to the United States, presumably under an assumed name about three years ago-"

"So I'm thinking he's probably a perp," said Shaw from her prone position.

Finch ignored this and went on. "- and this is what he looks like." He taped a picture up on the window. "A mug shot from the Interpol warrant outstanding for him."

Reese was still, his gaze locked on the photograph. "It's the Gingerbread Man."

Shaw sat up.

"This explains why he had no digital foot print. He's a fugitive and an illegal alien. No wonder the Machine could barely see him, he's been taking great pains to remain hidden," said Finch. "He had managed to amass a considerable sum of money before he left Australia, but it would seem a few months ago he began to run short. He took a job helping out on a delivery truck, all for cash and no questions about green cards asked. The truck is used by the contractors who do the hospital laundry at both Manhattan General and City General. He wears a dark green overall and a matching baseball cap when he's making deliveries."

"We've got him," breathed Reese. He walked over to the weapons cabinet and began to make his selection. Shaw moved to join him.

"That just leaves the problem of where he is right now and how we find him," Carter pointed out.

"Yes, we're still very much in the position of hunting a needle in a haystack, Mr Reese," Harold agreed. "But at least we now know the identity of our needle."

"Are there any other hospitals this company does laundry for?" Reese asked.

"Yes, but those two are by far the largest. The others are mostly small clinics which don't run to a large night shift. I suspect he uses the daytime delivery run to select his targets. He gets to know the nursing staff, tracks where the rosters are going, who's going to be on night shift next week... this is a very deliberate campaign he's planned well in advance."

"He's no ordinary serial killer, then," said Joss thoughtfully. "This isn't some mental problem driving him." She looked deeply troubled. "This really is pure evil."

"We still don't have a plausible source for our intel, either," said Reese. "I'll call Fusco, but we won't be able to access any help from the authorities aside from him."

He got out his cell phone and made the call.

Xxxxx

"I don't like this," said Shaw in his ear again.

Reese nodded, even though she couldn't see him. "I don't either, Shaw. But this is the best we could come up with. Even a small chance is better than no chance at all."

It was surely a measure of extreme desperation that the only plan they had been able to come up with was to pair off and take to the streets. Reese and Carter were taking the area around City General, while Shaw and Fusco were doing Manhattan. Even if they never found Trent, Finch reasoned, perhaps their presence would scare him off and thus save a life. And so there they were, wasting gas driving around New York in the dark while Finch played watchdog trying to keep track of hundreds of security feeds from cameras all over the area. It felt hopeless.

"Wonder where the unis are again," said Carter. It was true; despite the presence of a serial killer targeting hospitals they had seen only one police cruiser. Reese tapped his earpiece.

"Lionel? Any word on the foot patrols? How come nobody's here?"

There was a slight pause. "Because they're all here instead, John. The place is crawling."

"In that case maybe you and Ms Shaw could leave the area of Manhattan General and help John and Joss out over by City," put in Finch.

"It'll take a few minutes to get over there, but we're on it," replied Fusco.

"Wait!" said Finch suddenly. "There's a large blind spot over near the east entrance to City General. Two women walked into it a moment ago and one has just come running out. She's trying to make a call from her cell..."

"We're on it, Finch," said Reese as Joss threw the car into a tight turn and accelerated down the street.

To be continued...


	10. Chapter 10

As they sped down the street Reese was frantically checking his phone for a map of the area. Time seemed to be slowing, the way it did for him sometimes when the adrenaline started pumping. He was aware of Joss slowing for a red light, cautiously checking for traffic before she accelerated again and ran it.

"Take the next right, Joss. Then drop me three blocks along, take the next left and go one block. Stop there, but stay in the car. You weaponed up?"

Her only reply was a snort. Okay, stupid question.

"I mean it, Joss, _stay in the car_," he said as he got out. She shot away without replying. He turned and sprinted down the darkened street.

xxxxxx

Skidding around the corner to the service lane where the camera blind spot was, he drew his weapon and felt in his pocket for a flashlight as the power went out again to the block. _That trick's not going to work this time, you bastard_. Time stretched endlessly; he felt as though he had hours to examine every detail of the scene before him. A dark, narrow thoroughfare, all rear entrances and overflowing trash cans. His flashlight picked out the edge of an overloaded dumpster. A car appeared at the other end, maybe a hundred yards away. Joss was in position. Sounds from behind the dumpster. He loped, half crouching, towards it. A red trickle on the ground coming from underneath...

"NYPD, freeze!" He bellowed, and lunged around the dumpster, training his flashlight on the area behind it.

Trent was on top of his victim like some squalid vampire. He scrambled to his feet, trousers open. His eyes glittered at Reese in the beam of the flashlight. He turned and ran. Reese took aim at his legs, but then shifted and very deliberately put two rounds into his centre mass. The Gingerbread Man dropped like a sack of potatoes. Ignoring him for the moment, Reese turned to the nurse. No pulse, and a glance at the huge pool of blood told him there was nothing left to save.

A car door slammed at the other end of the street. Joss approached, gun in one hand, flashlight in the other. She stopped and crouched over the crumpled mound of Trent's body. He was apparently still alive. Reese heard him mutter something to Carter, but then his body twitched, went rigid and then sagged as the life left it.

"That your service weapon?" asked Carter as she approached him.

"No, I used one from the refuge."

"Good, 'cause we're going to find this scene a little hard to explain without blowing your cover, or at the very least landing you in a world of trouble."

He could hear approaching sirens now. Carter was pulling a cloth from her jacket pocket. "Here, wipe down your gun and put it in her hand," she instructed.

"What?" He was slightly bewildered, but complied.

"The Gingerbread Man's last victim took him with her," Carter explained. She was patting down the nurse's body. "Look for her bag, John. If she's got a gun in there, grab it."

Understanding, he quickly located the bag on a pile of flattened cardboard next to the dumpster. "No gun in here," he reported to Carter.

"Good, now let's get gone," she replied.

They killed their lights and hurried down the street towards her car. "Huh, that trick with the power going out worked in our favour this time," Joss remarked as they slid into their seats. "No-one's going to be able to make either of us out on the security cam footage." She pulled away just as the flashing blue lights of the first police car appeared at the other end of the service lane.

"I thought I told you to stay in the car," he said, glancing across at her.

She looked unrepentant. "I did. Then I heard shots fired, so I came down to back you up. Sorry, John, it's what I do."

"Maybe I'll leave you at home next time," he grumbled.

She smiled. "I don't believe you."

"What did he say to you?" he asked her. His limbs were relaxing now, going rubbery as he came down off his adrenaline high.

"Trent?" A line appeared between her brows as she drove. "I don't think he was talking to me," she said pensively. "He said, 'You said you'd protect me.'"

xxxxxx

When he woke the next morning the sun was shining, Joss was beautiful, his morning coffee smelt delicious, and he was even able to indulge in a bit of schadenfreude as he rode the subway and then walked the last part to work – the traffic lights were short phasing all over Manhattan, and the streets were in gridlock.

It was very hard to walk into the precinct as though for an ordinary day. Fusco flagged him down as soon as he arrived and they retreated to an empty interview room.

"So you popped the bastard," he said with an air of great satisfaction.

Riley raised his brows. "If you say so, Lionel."

"You left a nice little scene there. I don't think anyone's gonna look very closely. The nurse apparently had an unregistered firearm, but given the climate of the last week I bet she's not the only nurse who got weaponed up. It's a mystery how she was able to retain consciousness long enough to hit him, and a miracle she got him so cleanly, but hey. The human body's capable of amazing things, huh? And it's not like anyone's shedding tears over that pervert."

Riley nodded. "Though I'm still wondering who he was working with," he said thoughtfully.

"Yeah. The power went out again, right? And you know, on our way over there every single traffic light we hit was red. Not that it slowed us much. Shaw was driving like a crazy woman." Fusco paused and shook his head, then suddenly grinned at Riley. "C'mon, Wonderboy. Let's get back to work."

Back at his desk, he began the process of tidying up. As he dug down through the geological strata of files, memos and random bits of paper which had built up over the past week, he found a series of post-it notes from the previous two days. "Phone Alex Campbell, 555-3092," he muttered to himself. "What does my landlord want from me?"

He pulled out his cell and made the call.

"Detective Riley," said the voice at the other end. "I can understand you've been busy the last week or so, but you need to know your last rent payment bounced. I need you to make a payment as soon as possible."

"Oh. I'm sorry, Mr Campbell, I'll get right on it." He tried to make a transfer from his phone as soon as he finished the call, but when he accessed his account he found a negative balance. _Huh?_ He dug further, and found he hadn't been paid.

"Lionel, was there anything wrong with your paycheck a couple of nights ago?"

"Don't think so, Riley. Why, somethin' happened to yours?"

"Yeah, I haven't been paid."

"Call Personnel, maybe they can fix it."

When he did so they were apologetic. The week's pay run had had more than its normal share of errors, and a correction would be made on his next pay. "But my landlord wants his rent," Riley snarled. "How am I supposed to pay him, just send him an IOU?" The clerk on the end of the phone had no answer for this, but remained adamant. The next pay run would correct the problem, but the system would not allow one-off payments midway through the cycle.

Fusco had listened to the conversation with a mixture of sympathy and amusement. When Riley rang off, staring at his phone as though it had personally insulted him, Fusco grinned. "Real life sucks sometimes, doesn't it, Wonderboy?"

Riley glared at him. Fusco threw up his hands. "Hey, just bustin' your balls. I can slip you a hundred till payday if you need it."

He was about to refuse, but thought of his landlord and sighed. "I'd be grateful, Lionel."

xxxxxxx

The day went downhill from that point onward. He spent the afternoon tying up the last loose ends from the investigations into the murders of Veronica Stevens, Patti Sloane and Dominique Riviera, and the assault on Karen Smith. It was sobering work, a reminder that even though they'd finally stopped Trent there were still three families who would never see their loved one again. He tried to tell himself that they'd saved God knew how many other women from the same fate, but somehow those theoretical saves were more than outweighed by three, now four, real deaths. _Too late. You missed. You failed..._

He made it home to the brownstone, showered and rang Joss. Her phone went for a long time and then went to voice mail. Frowning, he gave it a moment and then hit her number again. Still no reply. He began to feel alarmed, and called Finch.

"Finch, has Joss been in contact with you today? She's not picking her phone up."

"No, Mr Reese, she hasn't," Finch responded. "Just a moment." There was a pause, and the keyboard clattered in the background. "The GPS shows her phone still at her apartment. Maybe you should go over and check on her." He sounded a little worried.

"I'm on it, Finch."

He drove over, as quickly as he could manage through the evening traffic. Apparently the traffic light problem of the morning had been fixed, but tempers among drivers were seemingly running high. He was feeling jumpy and frazzled as he pulled up on Carter's street. He buzzed her apartment and waited impatiently. Finally, just as he was becoming seriously worried, she answered.

"Hi, John." There was something wrong, he could tell instantly.

"Joss, are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Just tired. It's been a long day." There was a pause, and she said "Do you want to come up?"

"Of course I do, Joss. What's wrong?"

The door clicked open, and he ran up the stairs without waiting for it to close behind him. When he got to her apartment she was standing in the doorway waiting for him.

"Joss, what's wrong?" He took one look at her face and folded her in his arms. She began to cry as they made their way in out of the hallway. Reese kicked the door shut behind them and sat her down on the sofa. He pulled her close and simply held her as she sobbed. Gradually she regained some control. The sobs died away into sniffles, and at last she was still. He smoothed her hair back and kissed it. "Tell me."

She took a shuddering breath. "Yesterday was Taylor's birthday. I didn't know what to get him since we haven't spoken in so long. So I got him a new iPhone and posted it to him. I was too scared to go around there and try to give it to him. But, John, he sent it back. Didn't even unwrap it." She gestured blindly at the kitchen counter as tears started again. There was a brightly wrapped gift sitting there amongst the brown paper it had arrived in. It had "NO THANKS" scrawled across it in black marker pen.

She began to sob again, and all he could do was sit with her and hold her. It was hard not to hate the stupid, hurting boy who had done this to her. But he tamped down his anger, and held her close, and tried to comfort her. It took a long time before she was calm enough make ready for bed. She made it at last, and he turned out the light and curled himself protectively around her. At last she drifted off to sleep, but he lay awake much longer. _How do I protect her from this? What can I do when it's someone she loves who is hurting her?_

To be continued...


	11. Chapter 11

When he woke the next morning it was another sunny day. Joss was still sleeping, and he gently disentangled himself from her without waking her and went through to the living room. Taylor's rejected gift was still sitting on the counter. With a frown, he picked it up and shoved it into the back of a kitchen cupboard among the seldom-used appliances until he could think of a better home for it. He ran his fingers through his hair in perplexity, and began to make coffee. Having worked the weekend he was rostered off today, thank God.

In a few minutes Joss appeared at the bedroom door. Wordlessly she came over to him and put her arms around him. "Thanks," she said, resting her head against his chest.

"Maybe you should take the day off today," he suggested tentatively.

"A recurrence of the stomach flu?" She sighed. "That's a lovely idea, John, but no. I'm starting to get badly behind. I really have to go in."

She let go of him and began to assemble her breakfast. He waited for her to notice the absence of the gift-wrapped parcel but she said nothing and so he decided to take his cue from her and began his own breakfast. The elephant in the room loomed large, though, and neither of them said much. After she had finished eating, Joss went through to the bathroom for a shower. Feeling more than a little guilty, Reese went quietly back into the bedroom. Finding Carter's phone, he scrolled quickly through the list of contacts until he found Paul Carter's number and transferred the information into his own phone.

Joss arrived back soon after. As she moved about the room getting dressed for the day's work, she glanced across to him.

"You know, John, you're spending so much time here I think you might as well move in."

He blinked. "Are you sure, Carter? It's only been a week or so since we met at the court house."

"But what a week it's been, hmm?" She paused in her preparations. "John, I'm old enough now to know my own mind. And I've had a full year since I was shot to think about what might have been." She smiled at him. "Besides, after what we said to each other a couple of nights ago, living in separate houses is kind of inconsistent, don't you think?"

And so it was that he spent the morning hauling his few possessions from the brownstone over to Joss's Brooklyn apartment. It would be a longer commute into work, but that didn't matter, not in the least.

In the afternoon, though, he sat down on Joss's – their – sofa with his phone in his hand. Paul Carter. Somehow he had to enlist the man's help in this. Talking to Taylor seemed a futile exercise and in any case he wasn't certain he could trust himself to keep his temper with the boy after last night. But perhaps two adults could have a constructive conversation..._I can dream, anyway_, he thought grimly. He entered the number.

The phone rang for a long time, but eventually Paul Carter answered.

"Hello, Paul. You don't know me, but my name is John and I'm a friend of Joss's."

"Yeah?" Carter sounded suspicious.

"I'm a little concerned, Paul, about how things stand right now between Joss and Taylor. She got his birthday present back in the mail yesterday and she was very upset."

"Uh-huh." Damn, the man wasn't meeting him half way. He slogged on.

"I know Taylor's got some issues with Joss, but-"

"Listen, Jim-"

"-John-"

"-whatever. This situation does not concern you. You're damned right Taylor has 'issues' with Joss. He has a right to. It's gonna take a lot more than some fancy present from her to make things right. In fact I don't know that she's ever gonna be able to atone for what she did to us. She was dead to us for nearly a year and as far as I'm concerned I wish she still was. Taylor was just getting over her death when she suddenly turns up and expects us to just accept her lies? Ain't gonna happen. So just you butt out of our affairs and leave me and Taylor alone. Joss made this whole situation and now she's just going to have to live with it." He ended the call before Reese could respond.

He resisted the urge to throw the phone hard at the wall. Actually he wanted to throw something hard at Paul Carter's head, and for a few minutes he indulged himself in a little fantasy of what a trained operative might be able to do to the man. Then he sat back with a sigh and considered what he might do next, but his mind was a complete blank. Time to set this problem aside for a while. He stood up, shrugging his jacket on. The old subway station was calling him.

xxxxxx

He trotted down the stairs and paused as Bear sidled up to him. He briefly patted the dog, who fell in at his heels as he strode across the platform to where Finch had his desk.

"How's it going, Professor?"

Finch glanced up at him and set aside the papers in front of him. "Rather well, as it happens, Mr Reese." A small smile quirked the corners of his mouth.

Reese's brows rose. "How so, Finch?"

Finch was almost preening, he could swear. "We had a number today, which I dealt with myself."

That _was_ a surprise. He found himself smiling in return, partly amusement at Finch's evident pride in his accomplishment, and partly a secret little pleasure at seeing his friend unabashedly happy. "Tell me about it."

"It was really rather peculiar. The number was for a man calling himself Usermaatre Setepenre."

"What? Where does that name come from?"

"Ancient Egypt, as it happens. It is the formal throne name of the pharaoh known to history as Rameses II. It would seem that the man born Jonathon Cecil Mills legally changed his name a few years ago to that of the pharaoh. Which could be passed off as merely eccentric, except that he rapidly developed the delusion that he really _was_ Rameses II."

"Oh."

"'Oh' indeed, Mr Reese. Mills, or Setepenre, spent several years in a psychiatric facility, and eventually was considered stable enough to be released into community care. He had a case worker keeping an eye on him, making sure he continued to take his medication and so on. But then...his case was supposed to be handed off to a new worker during a reorganization within the state's psychiatric services, but it fell between the cracks. He was without oversight for a period of over six weeks, during which time he ceased to take his medication."

"I can see where this is going..."

Finch nodded. "He began posting some quite bizarre messages on his Facebook page, seemingly under the impression that his next-door neighbour was in fact a Hittite princess who had strayed from his harem, an offence punishable by a fairly gruesome death in his mind. He then made some purchases which suggested that he was planning to carry out the sentence himself, which was what I presume brought him to the attention of the Machine. In any case, I simply bundled up all this information and caused it to appear in the email inbox of his former case worker, who I am gratified to see has taken prompt action. The pharaoh is once again in a secure psychiatric facility." Finch smiled in satisfaction.

"Good work, Finch," said Reese sincerely.

"I must say, it is nice to have a Number we can deal with without violence for once." Finch glanced at Reese and cleared his throat. "There's something else, Mr Reese. I have managed to recover the bitcoins from that old hard drive you recovered from Leon. It would seem that Leon misrepresented, or was ill-informed about, the number on the drive. It wasn't anything like twenty thousand. It was nearer to thirty thousand. As a result, we have a _very_ sizable fund to draw on."

"Oh. That's good, I guess."

"I gather that you currently have a problem with your landlord, John," said Finch delicately. "With our reserves now so healthy, it would be fairly simple to sort out any financial ... troubles you might have."

"Well thank you, Finch, but it was just a glitch in the pay system. They're going to correct it in the next pay run. I can handle it." Why did he feel like a teenager refusing the help offered by his Dad?

"Oh, of course, Mr Reese." Harold backpedalled rapidly. "But if there ever should be a problem, well, the money's there."

Reese checked his watch. "I might head home soon, Finch. The rush hour should be starting to die down out there." He briefly considered mentioning Joss's troubles to Finch, but decided against it. It wasn't his story to tell, and he doubted Finch would be able to contribute anything much to a solution.

Outside he found that not only had the rush hour traffic not died away, it was total chaos. The traffic lights were malfunctioning again, and even worse, when he tried to take the subway he found that a signaling problem had left the subway completely immobilised. He called Joss on his cell phone as he waited, caught in a crowd of grumpy commuters jammed together on the stairs leading to a station. She was still at work. "No point even trying to get home right now," she said gloomily. "Guess I'm going to get caught up on my backlog one way or another."

"Maybe we should just stay downtown tonight. We could have dinner at the Lyric and go back to the brownstone."

"Sounds good to me, John." She sounded tired. Of course the brownstone apartment would be even less homelike than before, since all his clothes and personal items were gone now, but at least it represented some sort of refuge from the madness on the streets.

He turned and shouldered his way back up the subway stairs and set off for the court house. Walking was by far the quickest way around this evening. As he went, he caught sight of an evening newspaper headline. COPYCAT KILLER IN BRONX.

xxxxxx

"Another one?" Joss forked her Caesar salad into her mouth as she read the news story on the paper in front of her.

"Not the same as the Gingerbread Man, thankfully," he replied, pausing to take a sip of root beer. "This guy isn't targeting nurses, and he's shooting people. If he's copying anyone it looks more like the Son of Sam. Which is frightening enough for the locals."

"Three so far, spread over two weeks. Not as intense, either."

"Bad enough. Bronx Homicide must be running scared."

"The whole NYPD will be running scared, John. The Department didn't exactly cover itself with glory over Trent. Remember, everyone thinks he was killed by a lucky shot from one of his victims. And I don't think Maxine Angelis has finished either. I don't mean about anything you did, but the way the unis never seemed to be in the right place at the right time. We know it was someone spoofing the Department's computers, but we can't prove anything."

"Hmm." As he chewed, he considered. "The Machine hasn't given us a number on this one, not yet. Maybe he's a madman killing at random."

"That's certainly a possibility," Joss agreed. She yawned behind her hand. "Sorry. Just really tired today."

_Yeah, and I know why. _"Let's just pick up something for dessert on the way home," he said.

"Sure. And I'll need a toothbrush, too."

He called for the check, and they strolled out arm in arm.

xxxxx

The call came just as they were finishing breakfast and when he answered it Finch was his usual clipped self. What was unusual was that he specifically asked Reese to bring Joss.

"I've already spoofed the leave records at the DA's office. She's got a day off today, arranged several weeks ago. Do please hurry, John."

"What's up, Harold?"

"Never mind about that right now, John. Just get here as soon as you can, and bring Ms Carter. I've already called Ms Shaw in."

xxxxxx

"We have another number," Finch announced as they entered. He looked rather grim. "I think you're going to want some input on this one, Joss." He taped the picture onto the window: a portrait of a handsome black man in Army uniform, a flag behind him. "It's Paul Carter."

"Paul?" Joss looked staggered. "Why in the world would someone be targeting him? I mean, trust me, he lives a very boring life. No gambling, no questionable activities, nothing to put him in the sights of mobsters or drug dealers or whatever. He works all the hours God sends and spends his free time with Taylor."

"Unless he's the perp," said Reese.

Joss considered this for a moment, and then dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand. "A few years ago I might have considered that. But he's faced up to his PTSD issues, he got counseling. I know he's still healing, but I can't believe he'd become that unsafe without someone noticing and intervening. No, he can't be the threat. He must be the victim."

"If it's not someone from the present, perhaps it's someone from his past," said Finch. "Think back, Joss. Has Paul ever been involved in anything...unusual? Before you met him, perhaps?"

"He did a tour to Iraq and another to Afghanistan before he left the Army. Before I met him he had a couple of ordinary jobs. Delivery truck driver, that kind of thing."

"So there's nothing in his present and nothing we can pinpoint in his past. I think we're going to have to do this one the good old way," said Shaw. "Dibs I get to break into his house."

To be continued...


	12. Chapter 12

Note: **This chapter is rated T for mention of non-consensual sexual activity (nothing graphic).** It's a long one, folks, because I didn't want to split it.

Reese, Joss and Finch were sitting together in the subway car as they listened to Shaw's low-voiced commentary on Paul's Queens home. "No booze in the refrigerator," she said.

"There wouldn't be. Paul never was much of a drinker and his VA counselor has encouraged that," Joss commented.

"Kitchen cupboards well stocked, fresh fruit in a bowl on the counter. They're eating healthy anyway, Joss." Joss's face was sad as she listened.

"Going through to the main bedroom. Huh."

"Huh?" said Reese.

"There's a bunch of photos scattered on the bed. Shots of Paul and I guess his platoon mates in Afghanistan." A pause. "This one's ripped up. Sending you a picture."

The picture, when it arrived, showed the photo roughly reassembled in six pieces on the bed. Finch began working on the image as soon as it appeared, and it was only a few moments before he had the picture restored. Two unshaven and very dirty men wearing t-shirts and body armour grinning into the camera, their arms around one another's shoulders. Paul Carter on the left, a rugged, gray-brown landscape in the background. "Anything written on the back, Ms Shaw?" There was a pause.

"Nope. Oh wait, there's a date. September 2003."

"So who's the mystery man in the picture?" wondered Reese.

"I shall do my best to find out," said Finch, fingers rattling across the keyboard.

"Found his laptop," said Shaw. There was a pause as she booted it up and plugged in the thumb drive.

"Get Taylor's as well, if you can," said Reese. Joss looked askance at him; he shrugged. "He might be involved somehow was well, Joss," he said as gently as he could. She sighed and looked away, reluctant agreement in the set of her shoulders.

"Okay, I've finished," said Shaw. "Moving into Taylor's room." There was a pause. "No laptop, but I'm getting his desktop."

"I think he takes the laptop to class," Joss said into the silence.

Shaw moved back through the living area on her way out. "Huh. There's an envelope here, handwritten address on it. No return address, but it was for Paul. No sign of the letter, though. Who sends things snailmail these days?"

"People who can't access a computer. Or who don't know his email address. Is the postmark legible?" asked Finch.

"Ummm... Queens, I think. Posted three days ago."

"Joss, is Paul's phone number unlisted?" asked Reese.

"Don't think so," said Joss.

"I'll check," said Finch, keyboard rattling. "No, it would appear not. Just an ordinary listed number."

"So his name, address and phone number were all publicly available, but someone already living in Queens chose to send him a letter rather than phone or visit," said Reese.

"I think we can assume the the sender was the guy in the photo, don't you?" said Shaw. "I mean..."

"Tempting, but let's not reason in advance of our evidence, Ms Shaw. Post hoc ergo propter hoc," replied Finch.

"We'll just wait for the interpretation," murmured Joss.

Finch shot her a glance, the motion rendered oddly birdlike by the stiffness of his neck. "Post hoc ergo propter hoc, Ms Carter. With your legal training I'm astonished you don't know the phrase. One of the great logical fallacies – 'After this, therefore because of this'. Just because an event happens immediately after another event, that does not mean it was caused by it. The two may be entirely unconnected."

"Yeah, you want to take a bet on that, Finch?" Shaw sounded impatient. "Ten bucks says that when you track down the mystery man, he's our threat. In fact, make it fifty."

Finch ignored this, and sat for a moment starting meditatively at the left-hand screen.

Joss suddenly said, "Sameen, have you checked the waste paper basket?"

"For the letter? No... just looking now." A long pause. "Nope, no luck. Checking the kitchen garbage too...no. Nothing."

"Yeah, well that would have made it too easy, I guess," sighed Carter.

xxxxxxx

It was in fact several hours later that they got their breakthrough, after Shaw returned with the contents of Paul's and Taylor's computers. Finch was sitting in his usual pose, fingers flying over the keyboard, when he suddenly froze. "Ah. Hmmm."

"Professor?" Reese was lying dozing on the emergency cot. He propped himself up on an elbow as Finch said, "I think I've found something. Paul Carter entered a number of searches on Google, Facebook and Friendczar. He was looking for a man called Curtis Allen. When I track Mr Allen's address I find he lives in Queens, at a halfway house for recently released prisoners."

More keyboard noises. The shifting light from the computer screens reflected in Finch's glasses. "It would seem that Mr Allen served two tours in Afghanistan. The first was with the 87th Infantry regiment, 10th Mountain Division."

"That was Paul's unit," said Joss. She was back in her usual position sitting against the semi partition.

"After returning to the United States at the end of his deployment he was out of work for a few months, then rejoined the Army and went back for another tour. Honourably discharged in 2006, but things seem to have gone downhill for him after that. More unemployment, then a series of arrests for assault."

Joss was firing up her laptop. "Let me wave my magic ADA wand on that, Finch. Lemme see..." There was silence broken only by two keyboards clattering. "He skated on thin ice for a time, obviously his PDs were able to keep him out of prison on the basis of his war record for a while," said Joss, frowning at her screen. "He seems to have pleaded guilty each time, but eventually the courts must have got tired of sentencing him to counseling and anger management, which he never went to anyway. He served a one-year sentence, was out for two years and then back in for another two years. About three months ago he came out of prison again, and he's been living at the halfway house since then."

"So then he suddenly decides to hook up with an old army buddy. It _was_ him in the photo. You owe me fifty bucks, Finch," said Shaw. She was sitting on the floor where she had been playing tug-of-war with Bear, using an old sock.

Finch's only response was a flick of the eyebrows.

"Oh well, back to the noodles and cheap wine," muttered Shaw. Raising her voice she said, "Time to get eyes on Paul Carter then, don't you think?"

xxxxxxx

Stakeouts. Reese accepted stakeouts with a philosophical shrug, something he shared with Detective Riley. He sat in the car just down the street from Paul Carter's residence as the autumn sunset faded. Taylor had arrived home from class half an hour earlier, the lights had gone on and the curtains closed. Reese stiffened in his seat as the house's front door opened. Paul Carter emerged and ran down the steps, turning his collar up and pulling a hat on as he did so. He turned and began to walk along the street toward Reese's car. Reese drummed his fingers against the steering wheel and glanced at his watch, the picture of a man waiting for someone, as Carter passed by. As Carter disappeared into the twilight, Reese tapped his earpiece. "Finch? Carter just came out and headed off somewhere on foot. I'm going to tail him and try to see where he's going."

"I hear you, John. Joss is here with me, so we'll keep listening in."

Reese got out and set off after Paul Carter. It wasn't that hard to follow him – there weren't many people out in the rapidly cooling evening. The problem was following him unobtrusively. Reese nodded to a couple walking their dog, wishing he'd thought to bring Bear.

After nearly an hour's walk, he was both cold and frustrated. "Finch, where the hell is this man going? And why on foot?"

"I was thinking exactly the same thing, Detective. I'm just checking something... Ah." Finch's voice changed, becoming much more urgent. "He's heading for Allen's halfway house, it's about another mile-"

"-and he's chosen not to use a bus or the subway to lessen the chances of being picked up on camera," Joss put in.

"So he isn't the victim. He's the perp." Reese's face was set, and he increased his pace just slightly.

"I'm coming over," said Joss, sounding worried. "See if you can delay him, I'll be right there."

xxxxxx

Reese stood in some shadows just down the street from the entrance to the halfway house. Paul Carter was standing under a street light just across the road from its brightly lit doors. "St Martin's," read the sign on the building. A stained glass image of the saint, a handsome young man on a prancing horse, was above the double doors leading to the street. It was illuminated from the inside, the colours glowing on the sidewalk beneath it. The smiling blonde rider was using a sword to cut his cloak in half, and was offering the half cloak to a beggar. The man looked grateful. Reese wondered if the beggar could be as cold as he was himself. He hadn't been anticipating an hour and a half hiking the streets of Queens. At least the walk had kept some warmth in his body, but it was slowly leeching out as he stood in the shadows watching Paul Carter hesitating in front of the halfway house. He tapped his earpiece. "I don't like the looks of this, Finch. He's standing here psyching himself up for something. How long before Joss gets here?"

"Not long, I think, John," replied Finch. "She left here half an hour ago – she can't be far off."

"Well, she'd better get here soon...Wait, I think he's made up his mind."

Carter squared his shoulders, stepped out from under the streetlight, and crossed the street. One final hesitation, then he pulled the door open and disappeared inside.

"No more time, Finch. I'm going in after him." Reese stepped out of his hiding place and strode towards the entrance to St Martin's. A dark sedan pulled up at the kerb. "John! Wait!" Joss threw herself out of the car and was halfway across the street before the car door had slammed shut. Reese pulled the big door open for her, automatically checking the street for possible witnesses, and then followed her inside.

"Excuse me," she was saying to the man on the reception desk, "I'm just running a little behind. My husband Paul, he was just here to meet an old Army buddy-"

"Oh yeah, he just came in," said the receptionist. "Upstairs, Room 208. Up on the right."

"Oh, thank you," said Joss, smiling politely. She moved towards the stairs, and Reese could see she was trying hard to move normally and not break into a desperate run. He shot a smile at the receptionist and moved to follow her as she rapidly mounted the stairs.

"Hey, no more than two visitors at a time..." the receptionist trailed off as they disappeared around a bend in the stairway.

The door to Room 208 was open a crack. A thin pencil line of light cut across the darkened hallway as Reese and Joss approached. There were voices coming from the room.

"I can't believe you wrote to me." Carter.

"I...I wanted to make contact. I wanted to-" the other voice was very quiet.

"Do what? Do it again? You didn't do enough damage the first time? Or maybe I wasn't your last victim. What were you doing time for anyway, Al? You got plans to keep on hurting people?" Rage in Carter's voice. "I won't let you. I'm gonna end you, you bastard-"

Reese put his eye to the crack. Paul Carter was standing with his back to the door, while Curtis Allen was sitting on the bed. Carter was holding something out in his right hand. Reese couldn't see what it might be, but judging from Carter's stance he had no doubt at all that it was a gun. He glanced at Joss, took a deep breath, and slowly eased the door open. She took in the scene with a single glance. Carter, hearing the door move, took a quick peek over his shoulder before returning his gaze to the man in front of him.

"What are you doing here, Joss?" Paul's voice was hard and flat.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Paul?" Joss said, entering the room very slowly. Reese eased in behind her. He hoped to Christ Joss was wearing a vest; his eyes flickered across the room, calculating distances and angles.

"I'm going to shoot this sonovabitch, Joss. He deserves it."

"He was your best buddy over there."

"He took everything from me. All the shit Afghanistan threw at us, it was nothing compared to what he did. I could leave Afghanistan, I could leave the valley behind, but not him. He stayed with me. But now I can end it." The gun was very close to Allen's face.

"Paul," said Joss, "I know what it is to make a really stupid decision when you're not thinking straight. I did that, and now I'm caught in the consequences of it. There isn't a day goes by when I don't wish I'd decided otherwise, but I'm stuck with it now. So I'm begging you, please don't do this."

"You don't know what this is all about, Joss." His hand remained rock-steady, and Reese could see the finger begin to tighten on the trigger.

"You're right, I don't know. But I know nothing can possibly be helped or cured by taking this man's life. Please, Paul. Please don't do this."

"Joss is right, Paul," Reese said softly. He was focused on Paul's gun hand, moving very quietly and slowly to try to place himself between Paul and Joss. "I know what it is to take a life in cold blood. I know you've killed before, in combat, but believe me, this is a whole 'nother ball game." A fractional relaxation of that trigger finger? He continued to talk, a quiet hypnotic whisper. "It doesn't really matter what came before. Whatever wound you've got won't be healed by this act. Killing this guy will only magnify the consequences of whatever it was he did to you." There was a slight sheen of sweat on Paul Carter's face. The finger was slowly coming off the trigger. "You've got people around you who care about you, a son who looks up to you. You do this thing and you throw all that away. I promise you, whatever it is that started all this, we'll find a way to make it right. But only if you put your weapon down."

Abruptly Paul's hand dropped. The gun hit the floor with a muffled thump. Joss took two steps towards her former husband and enfolded him in a hug. Reese picked up the gun and pocketed it, then he turned towards Allen, pulling some zip ties from his other pocket as he did so.

"I think we need to have a little discussion, Mr Allen," he said. He did not try to hide the coldness in his voice. Allen slumped. "You don't need to tie me up," he said wearily. "In fact once we're done you guys can arm wrestle for who gets to off me for all I care. I'm done."

The bleakness of his tone seemed to touch something in Paul. He released Joss and looked over at Allen as if seeing him for the first time. Then he turned his gaze to Reese. "You'll find a way to make it right, huh?" he said bitterly. "Well, see if you can make this right. That bastard was my best friend in Afghanistan. Until he raped me. See if you can make that right."

xxxxxxxx

"We were stuck up a hill together for a solid year," said Allen. "One platoon, that's thirty soldiers, right? All hunkered down behind razor wire and mines and sandbags. Patrols every few days, maybe. Or maybe not. When it wasn't boring it was scary, we'd hear radio chatter told us the insurgents were coming in a week, two days, next morning. Sometimes it'd pan out, sometimes not. Sometimes the boredom got so bad we'd be desperate for combat, something to happen, anything at all. Then some towelhead would set up as a sniper and fire a few rounds into our compound. Guy bunked across from me got hit in the shoulder lying in his bed one day." Allen's voice was low, a monotonous mumble of disjointed memories seeping out like water from a steadily dripping tap. "No-one who hasn't been there can possibly imagine what it's like. One night they tried to overrun us, all of a sudden there's tracer rounds and mortar rounds and shit coming in from up the hillside, everyone piles out of the hooch just as we were, you remember Paul? You were on the 240 firing up the hill, just there in your underwear and body armour and a helmet. You were on that gun a solid hour before the Apaches got there, never did get anything else on. Crazy sonovabitch." Paul nodded, blank faced.

"Then it went quiet for a whole month," continued Allen. "Like just nothing at all happening. Stupid motherf-" he stopped and cast an apologetic glance at Joss. "I mean, stupid bastards. Ran out of ammo, would you believe. Harvest was a small one for them that year, they couldn't afford the bullets to fire at us. So we got bored."

"And that caused you to..." Joss seemed to have difficulty getting the words out.

"Rape someone? One of my brothers in arms? My best friend, in fact?" Allen's expression was an odd amalgam of self-loathing, defiance and a mute plea for understanding. "You would not believe the things that went on up that hill. Most of them were just...a little strange. Some people took to sleeping all the time, fifteen, twenty hours a day if they weren't on duty. One guy would pin people down for weird philosophical conversations about whether there was anything in astrology, or whether ESP was true, stuff like that. There was another who spent all his time trying to lure the damn monkeys down off the hillside into the compound, he was convinced he could tame one of 'em. There was lots of porn, magazines or on people's laptops or whatever, and you had to be real careful to walk into the hooch loudly, you know, in case you caught someone committing an intimate act on his bunk, right? And the tension in the air all the time..." His voice trailed off. Joss and Reese exchanged looks. Yes, Reese could imagine it. Heat, dust, the strange numbness that set in after a week or two, a numbness which had to be fought because any moment it could all change to violent action in which a slight hesitation could get you killed, or worse cause you to let the others down. The tiniest details would take on a bizarre significance, the pattern of light and shade cast by the camo netting, the smell of thrown out coffee grounds, a stray wisp of smoke from the burn pit where the platoon's rubbish went. Every sense stretched to its utmost, stretched thin, just waiting to snap...

"And so one day I walked into the hooch and you were asleep on your bunk, Paul. You were face down in your underwear with your ass up in the air, like my kid used to sleep when he was little. And to this day I swear I don't know what went on in my head, but I just thought, what the hell. And before I knew it I was on top of you, and..." Allen drew a deep breath. "I couldn't believe what I was doing even at the time. And before you were even fully awake I was done and ah shit I don't know. I zipped up and went out. We never said one word to each other after that unless we were in a firefight. And ten weeks later the deployment was over and we all went home. End of story, right?" He looked around at the three of them. "I could tell you that I wasn't quite right in the head when I did what I did. That might even be true. And I could tell you I have nightmares about it, and that would definitely be true. And I could say I'm sorry and I'm sick as hell for what I did, and that would be true too, but none of that really matters, does it. It doesn't fix it." Allen took a deep breath. "So there you go. You can arm wrestle now or whatever you like. I've said all I'm going to say. I just want to end this."

The silence after this speech stretched out. Paul sat with his head bowed. Joss was gazing at the wall, her face a blank mask. Reese examined his hands. _I don't fix people, I'm better at breaking 'em. Damned if I know how to fix this..._

Paul lifted his head. "I'm not arm wrestling anyone," he said heavily. "I'm not going to kill you, Al. Now I'm thinking straight again, I can see. You're a pathetic piece of shit. I don't care enough about you to end you. You can go off and jump under a train or drink yourself to death or find a good woman and have eighteen kids together for all I care. Just so long as you do it a long, long way from where I am."

xxxxxx

"I feel sorry for Curtis Allen in a way," said Joss reflectively later that night. She and Reese were sitting in one of their favourite diners. They had decided the all-day breakfast was in order; she was having a stack of pancakes with maple syrup, while he was finishing eggs Benedict. "He was really looking for some sort of forgiveness from Paul, and I think he was truly sorry for what he'd done."

"It can't have come as a surprise that he ended up looking down the barrel of a gun," replied Reese as soon as he got his mouth clear of the last of his eggs. "I think he was trying to commit suicide, he was just hoping he could get someone else to pull the trigger."

"Mmm. Maybe you're right." Joss looked pensive. "I hope he can find some peace, some sort of help. It also explains why Paul took so long to seek help for his PTSD." She sighed.

"Anyway, we have other things to think of right now," he said, signaling for the check.

"Oh?" Joss shot him a sultry look.

_Don't get your hopes up,_ he thought. _This is more important. Damn it._ "You have an important conversation to have with Paul. And Taylor. About trying to make things right after you make a really stupid decision. So get your coat on, I'm driving you over to his house, and then I'm sitting the three of you down. And you're going to have a talk."

**Author's note: The description of life in an outpost in Afghanistan is based in part on Sebastian Junger's excellent book _War_. Although he doesn't describe sexual activity, consensual or not, between the soldiers with whom he was embedded, he does make it plain that things did get more than a little strange among these men, isolated as they were under conditions of immense stress. Thus I don't feel I've pushed the bounds of possibility too far in having Paul the victim of a rape. I certainly don't want to imply any disrespect to those who served in Afghanistan, or anywhere else for that matter. Thanks for reading this far! Please review, your feedback keeps me motivated to keep writing. **


	13. Chapter 13

It was very late by the time they made it back out to Queens, and the temperature had dropped to nearly freezing. Joss's breath made clouds in the still air as they waited on the front steps of Paul Carter's house after ringing the door bell. It seemed to take a long time before anyone heard the bell, but finally they heard footsteps and the door opened a crack, secured by a chain.

"Taylor, honey, I want to talk to you and your Dad," said Joss.

The brown eye - all Reese could see of the boy from his vantage point behind Joss's shoulder - looked suspiciously at them. Taylor glanced back and called, "Dad! Mom's here, should I let her in?"

Reese set his teeth, but a shout came from further inside the house. "Let her in!"

Paul appeared as the door swung wider. He gave Reese a short nod as he gestured for the two of them to come in.

They followed Paul and Taylor through to the living room. The boy's face was set, his expression closed as they all seated themselves. Reese could see the simmering resentment just below the surface. He shifted his gaze to Paul. Harder to read. A roiling mass of shame, resentment, guilt, gratitude...this whole thing could go any number of ways.

Joss sat awkwardly, plainly ill at ease. The silence stretched. At last, Reese could bear it no longer. Time to take a hand.

"I have something to say to each of you," he said softly. "You first, Paul.

"You are no longer Joss's husband. Whatever the rights and wrongs of your divorce, or what's happened since, you no longer have that part in her life. Whatever she chooses to share, or not share with you is not really your business. Your only role in her life is to support her in her relationship with the child you had together. If you feel angry at her about something, that's your privilege. But when you allow that anger to influence your son against his mother you are crossing a line. And that stops tonight."

Paul heard this with a frown. He looked down at his feet and said, "You should have told me, Joss. I know I'm not your husband any more, but you still should have told me."

Joss stirred in her seat. "I wish I had, Paul. But what's done is done. Somehow we have to go on from here."

"And in the end it still isn't your decision, Paul. You might disagree with it, you might resent it, but you have no business holding it against this woman, and more importantly ruining your son's relationship with his mother," Reese added. "And after the events earlier this evening, you owe Joss. Big time." He held Paul's gaze until the other man dropped his eyes. Good. He turned his attention to Taylor.

"Which brings me to you, Taylor. Your Mom has laid herself on the line for you over and over again since before you were born. Everything she has done with her life, interrogating terror suspects in Iraq, working in law enforcement here in New York, it's all been to make a better world for you. So it's time to get your head out of your ass and realise how much you owe her."

Taylor looked defiant. "I know all that, but it still doesn't change it. When it really mattered she didn't trust me." He looked directly at Joss for the first time. "You left me for nearly a year thinking you were dead. I cried myself to sleep for weeks after you die-, got shot. And then suddenly you come back and I'm supposed to just pick up where we left off? No! I can't do that, Mom. I just can't."

Joss buried her face in her hands. "Do you think I don't know that, Taylor?" Her voice was muffled. "Baby, I hated every minute I was stuck there, wondering how you were, wishing I could talk to you. If I could go back I would never do what I did to you. But I'll never get that time back. I just want to try to find some way to go on from here."

Taylor said nothing in response to this. Reese sighed inwardly. There had to be some way to get through to the boy, pierce that shell of resentment he had surrounded himself with.

"Taylor," said Reese, "I want you to think about something. What do you or anyone else gain from you continuing to punish your mother for a bad decision she made when she was sick and vulnerable? No, don't say anything," he said as Taylor seemed about to reply. "Just think for a moment."

Taylor sat in silence, looking at his fingers. At last he raised his head. "I'm sorry I hurt you, Mom. But things aren't the way they used to be. I hate the way they are now, but I don't know how to change it."

"You could apologise to your mother for that stunt you pulled with your birthday present, for starters," snapped Reese.

Taylor jumped at the sudden change in tone. He shot a slightly cowed look at Reese, perhaps remembering that this was Mr Badass sitting on his sofa. _That's right, boy. Take a good look, you can't just lash out at Joss with impunity any more._

"I'm sorry, Mom. I really am sorry." The words were mumbled, but Reese could see tears starting in the boy's eyes. He let out an inward sigh of relief. They'd got there, past the anger and into the hurt. Hurt, they could deal with. They sat in silence for a while, Taylor trying to muffle his sniffles.

Reese rubbed his eyes. Joss still had her face buried in her hands. Paul looked tired and sad. Finally Reese broke the silence. "I don't know where to go from here. But it's late and most of us are working tomorrow. Joss and I will be going now. Maybe you could phone your Mom tomorrow, Taylor, just to let her know how your day went. And we could take it from there. Do you think you could do that?"

Taylor nodded. "Okay," he said quietly. They all rose as Reese and Joss stood and made their way to the front door. As Paul opened it, Taylor reached out and gave Joss an awkward one armed hug. She hugged him back hard, tears in her eyes. He broke the contact first, but Joss was smiling as she and Reese walked down the steps and out on to the street.

Xxxx

They took the opportunity to pick up Reese's car, abandoned down the street when he'd set off after Paul earlier in the evening, and drove slowly in convoy back to Brooklyn. But ten minutes out from the apartment they hit an area where the street lights were out. So was everything else – total blackness. The darkness didn't let up when they got to the apartment building. Reese had to drive around the block to find a place to park his car, and by the time he made it back to the front entrance of the building Joss was standing there with a look of frustration on her face.

"The card access won't work without power," she explained to him. "Any ideas?"

He frowned. "Nothing that'll leave the reader usable afterwards," he told her.

"Oh." She bit her lip for a moment. "No power on up there anyway. I wonder how far this goes?"

Reese got out his phone. He called Shaw first. "Hey, Shaw, is the power out where you are?"

"No," she said, sounding a little blurry. There was a lot of noise in the background.

"So where are you?"

A long pause. "Do you know," she said, sounding as though she had just made an interesting discovery, "I'm really not too sure right now. How about I call you back when I find out." She ended the call. Reese snorted and called Fusco.

"Lionel, you know the power's out in Brooklyn? Is it okay where you are?"

"How the hell would I know, Wonderboy?" snarled Fusco groggily. "It's way after midnight, I was asleep and it's dark." There was a pause. "Yes, the power's on. Now can I go back to sleep, please?"

"Uh, yeah, sure, Lionel." Feeling a little stupid, he ended the call.

He looked over at Joss. "It's obviously not out all over town. Shall we head to my old apartment again?"

"I guess we might as well. Right now all I want is to get horizontal." She saw his smirk. "And go to sleep, John." He made a pretend sad face, took her hand and they strolled back to her car.

Xxxxx

"You know, I'm starting to wonder what the hell is wrong with this town these days," Joss said as she drove. "Power outages, traffic problems like yesterday. That problem with the subway. Did you see the garbage men are still on strike?"

"Really? I thought they'd fixed that one."

"Yeah, they got them back to work for a couple of days, but then their new pay system quit completely, none of them got paid and they all went on strike again. I hear a lot of them have drifted off and found other jobs anyway, so they'll be shorthanded even when they do get it all fixed. And in the mean time they've got State troopers trying to clear at least some of the trash so we don't all drown in it." She grinned. "So if they ever throw you out of the NYPD for excessive force you'll always be able to get a job as a garbage man."

"Great, I could collect garbage and not get paid instead of catch killers and not get paid." He told her about his own pay issues.

"Well, let's hope they fix it in the next pay. You need a loan to get your landlord off your back?"

"Thanks, you're the third person to offer. I think I'll be okay."

She nodded in the darkness, her face lit by the dashboard lights.

Thankfully the power was on by the time they hit Manhattan. Exhausted by the day's events, they were both asleep within minutes of collapsing into bed.

XXXXX

Reese's phone went at just before eight. UNKNOWN CALLER. He answered sleepily.

"Mr Reese, we have numbers," came Harold's voice. "And I think we'll need to get Detective Fusco's help on this situation."

"Situation?" He ran a hand through his hair as he blinked himself awake.

"Yes, please get down here as quickly as you can." Finch sounded perturbed. "I'll explain when you're here."

As he dragged himself out of bed Joss stirred and sat up.

"Gotta go, Joss. Finch just called."

"Yeah, so I gathered. I'll call you later, okay?" She picked up her watch from the nightstand and looked at it. "Oh God, is that the time?" With a sudden burst of speed she was out of bed, dressing rapidly. "What have you got in the house for breakfast? No, never mind, I'll just grab something on the way..."

As they dodged around each other preparing for their day he was struck by a strange feeling. Was this what normal life was like? Did other couples do this, not just sometimes, but most mornings? He could definitely get used to this. He couldn't understand how people could get bored with it, it was just such a wonderful thing, ordinary life.

The strange feeling evaporated as he walked down the steps to the subway station. Shaw was there, looking bleary as she and Finch contemplated no less than six photographs taped to the window.

He squinted at them. They all seemed to have something in common. The five men and one woman depicted all wore similar clothing, and had been photographed against a similar background, a pale coloured surface of some sort.

"Cameron James, Phil Potter, Cory Clayton, Gemma Smith, Matthew Traynor, and Eduardo Gomez. All psychiatric patients confined by court order because they posed a risk to the community. All released yesterday because their court orders had been suddenly rescinded." Finch's face was grim.

"How the hell did that happen?" Reese was astonished.

"That I am still trying to ascertain," said Finch. "But right now, regardless of what the authorities may think, they all pose a grave risk to anyone they come in contact with. We need to find them and get them off the streets as quickly as we can."

"I'll take James and Potter," said Shaw.

Finch went to his computer and rapidly jotted down some information from one of his screens. "Here, Ms Shaw. These are their last known addresses." Shaw grabbed the piece of paper and was gone.

"Clayton and Traynor used to live fairly close to one another in the Bronx, John. Here are their addresses," said Finch. "While you're looking for them, I'll get in touch with Ms Carter and see if she can find out what happened at the court end. And you could pass the last two addresses on to Detective Fusco."

He nodded somberly and turned to go.

To be continued...


	14. Chapter 14

He used the motorbike, since time was critical and he figured it would give him better mobility in the traffic. But neither Traynor nor Clayton were at their old addresses. Their photos were on his phone, and he spent some time asking around the neighbourhood, but neither had been sighted. When he checked in with Finch, he found that Shaw had already dealt with Potter. She had sedated him, planted an illegal handgun on his unconscious body and called the local cops. With or without the court order, his history would ensure that he was off the streets for at least the next few days until his case was heard. Score one for Shaw; he wished he and Fusco were doing as well.

Finch was having trouble figuring out how the six had been released in the first place. Carter was sure there had been no court hearings about the orders which had seen them committed, but Finch hadn't found any evidence of hacking in any of the court's systems. Meanwhile, Reese checked a couple more bodegas and convenience stores without result and admitted to himself that he was spinning his wheels trying to figure out where his two targets might be.

He tapped his earpiece. "Finch, what's the background on these two? Is there anywhere else they might be? Their former neighbourhood's been a bust."

There was a short pause, broken by the inevitable rattle of Finch's keyboard. "I'm looking at their treatment records right now. You might try the New York City Zoo for Traynor, John. He was obsessed with the big cats there, and believed that like them he needed raw meat every few days." Another pause. "Oh my goodness...some of the fantasies he had about the tigers are...very unpleasant."

"On it, Finch." The roar of the bike's engine should have been soothing for him – he usually found it so. But instead the incessant stop-start of riding in the city irritated him. He had a nagging feeling that he was too slow, too late, hopelessly behind. Playing catch-up again.

The Zoo. He parked the bike, and gained entrance by flashing his badge at the attendant and barreling through the turnstile past a group of school children and a couple of mothers with toddlers in buggies. A cool autumn day, but mostly sunny, just the right weather for plenty of people to be about. Damn.

He slowed his pace, trying to blend with the crowd. This public place would make the kind of sleight-of-hand Shaw had pulled with Potter impossible. How the hell was he going to pull Traynor in, even if he was here? With any luck at all he would be acting erratically enough for Detective Riley to simply arrest the guy for whatever weirdness he was exhibiting, but if not... he got out his cell and flicked through to Traynor's picture. A gaunt, thin face, graying hair pulled across in a cowlick. Sad eyes. The man looked more unhappy than crazy, but Reese was only too well aware that appearances could be deceiving.

He decided to head straight to the tiger enclosure, and if Traynor wasn't there, to begin a methodical sweep of the whole zoo site, though with the crowds present he desperately hoped he would get lucky and find the man with the big cats. It would be a needle in a haystack today, and there was a relentless hurry, hurry, hurry in the back of his mind. Clayton was still out there.

The tigers at last. A viewing platform was suspended over the enclosure, while a second viewing space at ground level with a huge sheet of glass allowed the public to get up close and personal with the big predators. A family group, out of town visitors perhaps, was just filing out as Reese ducked past them. A single figure was standing in the gloomy interior, his hand up on the glass. A huge male tiger, striped coat gleaming, appeared padding along what was evidently his usual path along the edge of the enclosure. Yellow eyes seemed to look straight through the man, who was now pressing himself against the glass. Reese breathed out in relief. Even without a glimpse of his face, it must be Traynor. He eased his hand into a pocket, grasping the syringe there. Maybe Shaw's trick, or something similar, would be possible after all...

But the man saw him coming, reflected in the glass. He spun on the spot, eyes wild. His hands reached out, fingers crooked into claws. His lips drew back in a snarl as he lunged at Reese. Reese stepped sideways, dodging easily, and the man charged past him and out into the daylight.

He followed at a dead run. Traynor was sprinting up the steps, two at a time, to the viewing platform. Another school group was coming down; Reese waited perforce until his path was clear. As he emerged at the top, Traynor was standing on the railing. With a triumphant glance over his shoulder at Reese, he jumped.

xxxxxxx

Back out on in the zoo car park, Reese tapped his earpiece. "Traynor's not going anywhere, Finch. He jumped into the tiger enclosure before I could close with him. He's been badly mauled, and from what I could see he may not live. I managed to stay clear of the situation. Didn't want to get tied down here with Clayton still out there."

"You'll be pleased to hear Detective Fusco was able to arrest Ms Smith about twenty minutes ago. And Ms Carter has had a word in the ear of one of the other ADAs in her office, so the wheels are turning to get their court orders reinstated. But it'll be another few hours at least. The situation is still highly unstable."

"Any thoughts on where Clayton might be?" He was buckling his helmet on as he spoke.

"He had a particular obsession with a woman called Natalie Sinclair. She's a kindergarten teacher in Staten Island. I'm sending you her address and a route there now."

He kicked the bike into life and was off.

xxxxxx

The traffic was lighter during the early afternoon – at least until the schools let out – and he made swift progress. With three of their potential killers out of the way he permitted himself to hope that the rest might be as easy. But as he approached Natalie Sinclair's street his heart sank. Police tape across the intersection; a couple of ambulances in front of an otherwise nondescript apartment building. Parking the bike, he slipped into Riley's persona and approached the uni standing just inside the tape.

"Officer," he said to the young man, displaying his badge. The boy – surely they were recruiting them younger these days – nodded to him and lifted the tape for him to duck under. He nodded in reply and walked towards the woman apparently in charge of the scene. A gurney was being wheeled out though the front door of the building. No IVs in sight, and the occupant was completely shrouded; a body then. Riley's heart contracted as another gurney followed close behind. He tapped his earpiece. "Finch, I'm at Natalie's place. It doesn't look good."

"I've been tracking the police comms, Mr Reese. Murder-suicide." He caught his breath. Finch must have heard the sound; he added gently, "It would seem it happened this morning before she left for work. You couldn't have prevented it, John. I suggest you extract yourself as quickly as possible and get over to the Brooklyn Bridge. Fusco has a situation there."

"I'm on it, Finch."

He pulled a discreet fade without even talking to the Staten Island detective, aided by that fact that her attention was on the two bodies which had dropped on her turf, and returned to his bike.

xxxxxx

It was nearly seven that evening by the time they finished their reports and made their way to their favourite bar. Club sodas all round again. Reese decided that attractive as scotch rocks might be after this particular day, he wanted to retain his edge just a bit longer that evening. Who knew what other strangeness might be on its way?

He looked up as Carter slid onto the stool next to him. "Hey, John," she said, leaning towards him and kissing him on the cheek.

"Hey yourself," he replied, smirking a little. Fusco took a large sip of club soda and tried to control his expression.

"Hard day at the office, huh?" She glanced past him to Fusco, who gave a little shrug and examined his glass minutely. "I've had better," he said, running his fingers through his hair.

Carter's eyes narrowed. "What _is_ that in your hair, Lionel?" she asked.

Fusco grimaced. He hesitated a long moment and then said sulkily, "Whipped cream, if you must know."

Reese tried very hard to put his poker face on. Joss was trying the same, with some success, he could see from the corner of his eye. There was a pause.

"Come on, Lionel. We have no secrets from each other, do we?" he finally murmured.

Fusco glared at him. "Boy, am I tired of being your comic relief," he said grumpily. "It was Gemma Smith. Crazy broad. She was holed up in a convenience store and had the owner gagged and tied in a corner. She thought he was going to rape her. But since she was unarmed I decided I'd try to go in and talk to her. So I did. And she decided I was also a potential rapist, so she tried to pepper spray me. Except that the can she had in her hand wasn't pepper spray, it was whipped cream."

As he finished this speech, Carter had her eyes closed, her hand stuffed in her mouth and was breathing in short snorts. Reese had to swallow his club soda quickly before it came out his nose, but mostly managed to keep a straight face, he flattered himself. Trying to steer the conversation in a more professional direction, he said, "How did the Brooklyn Bridge thing go in the end, Lionel? Finch told me it was resolved before I even got there, and then I was head down in paperwork for the rest of the shift. I hardly even saw you."

"That fruitcake Gomez was standing there underneath the bridge pylon with a knife to the throat of this poor kid he'd just grabbed off the street somewhere," Fusco told him. "We spent over an hour trying to talk him down, even got his old parish priest in to talk to him. But he just got weirder and more unstable and finally he gave the SWAT guy a clear shot and he took it. Got him right in the apricot."

Reese nodded. A hit to the medulla oblongata at the base of the brain would kill the target instantly and prevent any movement which might endanger the hostage; the marksman had obviously known his job. Shaw had called in with news that she had found and immobilised Cameron James, their last Number – no great achievement apparently as he'd been face down in an alley with more than half a bottle of cheap bourbon in him when she'd caught up with him. That left them with a body count of three, possibly four if Traynor succumbed to his injuries. His stomach hurt thinking about it. Natalie Sinclair was the worst, of course – an innocent victim who'd got out of bed that morning expecting an ordinary day with no idea she wouldn't live to see the sun set. But he felt a sadness for the others which surprised him a little. They'd been sick, not evil, and whatever had caused them to be released into a world they couldn't deal with had made them victims of a sort too.

"Joss, did you ever track down how those people got out of custody in the first place?" he asked her.

She looked troubled, a line appearing between those perfect eyebrows. "No," she said pensively. "There was no court hearing, no arguments presented for revoking any of those court orders. They were simply rescinded. It seems to have been a purely electronic process, no human input at all. Finch is positive there was no hacking. It just came out of nowhere."

"I'm goin' home now, I think. This town gets crazier every day," said Fusco, getting to his feet. "Sometimes I think I'm living in Gotham City, not New York. That serial killer in the Bronx hit again last night, did you see? And you people with your VHF phones might not have noticed, but we lost cell coverage over most of Manhattan for about an hour this morning. I mean, what's next, hallucinogens in the water supply?" He nodded to them both, and made his way to the street door.

To be continued...


	15. Chapter 15

Two days went by; one blessedly easy Number, handled by Shaw. A bodega owner's son, up to his neck in debt to a poker game. Mob enforcers kneecapped, son on a bus to Florida. No problem. Another cell phone outage in Lower Manhattan – an intermittent fault the telcos were scrambling to fix, PR spokesdroids embarrassed, techs harassed while Wall Street brokers went nuts. Maxine Angelis was on the story, her pen dripping poison as she castigated The Powers That Be over their inability to keep the nation's financial powerhouse functioning.

The weather changed – autumn was starting to morph into winter with rain and cold northeasterly winds. Reese added a black beanie and black leather gloves to his wardrobe, though the gloves were a nuisance when he was trying to use his phone. The next pay cycle kicked in. His pay went through with no trouble, although Fusco had problems this time. No overtime paid. Reese repaid his loan and offered to help out, but Fusco declined politely.

Reese couldn't shake the feeling that he was waiting for something.

xxxxxx

The moment came that Friday night. They had had the by now customary drink with Fusco after work, but instead of going home - _home!_ - they had meandered down to the subway station to see if another Number had come in. Shaw obviously felt the same, because she was there too, wrestling Bear over a squeaky toy while Finch tried to concentrate on yet another stack of student papers. When they arrived Finch surrendered and pushed the papers aside with every sign of relief. They settled down with coffees and green tea: a moment of calm to be enjoyed before the next crisis. But Joss seemed restless. The conversation strayed to the latest cell phone outage.

"There's something crazy going on in this town," she said. She grabbed her marker pen and moved over to her favourite window. "Look. We've had power outages. Cell phone outages. A strike by garbage workers due to pay software that doesn't work. Traffic light failures. Subway signaling failures. Admin errors which have resulted in psychiatric patients left unsupervised or let out when they shouldn't have been. Serial killers who have had some sort of help by someone who can shut off power or send the police in the wrong direction." As Joss spoke she wrote each of these items on the window. "What do all those things have in common?" She stared around challengingly at the others.

"Computers," said Shaw softly. There was a moment's silence.

"Oh, dear God, I see it all now," said Finch in a stricken voice.

"See what?" Reese asked.

"What does it take to cause a functioning democracy to grind to a halt, to cause people to voluntarily forgo their civil liberties and hand power over to a remote, omnipotent force?"

Reese shrugged, and raised his eyebrows.

"Most people don't realise that something rather strange happened in both Russia and Britain during the Second World War. Faced with an existential threat, the Russian regime loosened its controls – churches reopened, a certain amount of dissent began to be permitted," said Finch. "But in Britain, the opposite happened. Press censorship, tight controls on people's everyday lives. The two societies began to look quite similar. It was almost as though they were going to meet in the middle. In Britain the sudden loss of freedom was accepted by most of the population because it was 'for the duration', as the saying went. For the duration of the war."

"They were smart enough to know they had make sacrifices to win," said Reese.

"Oh, indeed. And eventually the British got all their freedoms back, while in Russia after the war the churches were closed again and the dissenters were sent to the Gulag. But it's an important lesson. If the threat is frightening enough, even people reared on democratic values will allow unheard-of powers to their leaders."

"And Samaritan has hand-picked the State Governor in the mid-term elections," put in Carter.

"So how could people be made scared enough to voluntarily give up their traditional freedoms?" Reese wondered.

"A pandemic would have done nicely, but we derailed that one," said Shaw, gazing at Joss's list.

"So how about a whole series of pin-pricks?" said Carter, gesturing at the window with her pen. "Power outages from computer glitches. Transport systems thrown into chaos. Public employees like cops, or garbage collectors left underpaid or not paid at all until they go on strike. A series of serial killers, some of them mentally ill but let out through 'administrative errors'. The investigations into them botched. Would that be enough to anger and frighten people to the point that they demand the Governor do something about it? And then our beloved governor, with Greer whispering in his ear, decides to hand everything over to this wonderful AI which will fix everything?" She looked rattled.

"That's the thing, Ms Carter. Will it be enough?" Finch commented soberly. "Just before Samaritan went online, it underwent a beta test in which it was given the NSA feeds for New York City for twenty-four hours. _That_ is what is happening now. All these troubles – they're Samaritan's beta test of its strategy to take over the entire country. If it succeeds here, New York will be held up as an example of how an AI's input has solved everything. Even if it doesn't, Samaritan will use the data it gathers here to fine-tune its strategy for the next round."

"So how do we stop it?" Shaw wanted to know.

"That's it," said Finch. "We can't." He paused a moment to let this sink in. "This is the death of a thousand cuts. How can we stop every killer, fix every bug, sideline every compliant official Samaritan has managed to get into position?" He slumped in his seat, as much as his stiff back would let him. Reese had never seen him look so utterly defeated. "It's simply too big. How do we defeat something which is omnipotent?"

"We do for it what Harold did for the Machine." A new voice: Root was standing in the doorway. She stared intensely at the group as she walked in. "We teach Samaritan to care. We write a virus which inserts itself into Samaritan's programming, and performs the same function as the code you wrote for the Machine when you were first building her, Harold."

"To do that we would need a sample of Samaritan's code," said Harold slowly.

"Done," said Root. She held out a stick drive. "It's a fairly small portion of code for a minor subroutine, but I think there's enough there for us to write what we need."

"However did you get this?" Harold took the drive and held it as though it was made of fine china.

"Samaritan has data centres all over the world, and some are better guarded than others. If you go somewhere small, and green, and far from the woes of the world it's amazing what you can find," said Root, removing her coat. "All I had to do was pretend interest in the local version of football, and I was in." She moved across to the computer desk and sat next to Harold. "Come on, Harold, we'd better get started. We need to get this code written and ready to insert by midnight tomorrow."

"Why the big hurry?" asked Shaw.

"Because tomorrow night at midnight Samaritan's going to deliver the last straw. The trigger event which will scare people enough to persuade the Mayor and the Governor to hand authority in New York City over to an AI. There's going to be an accident at the Applied Physics Department at Columbia University. In their research reactor, to be exact."

xxxxxx

The hours passed in a slow motion agony of clattering keyboards, low-voiced conversation between Finch and Root, and the glare of fluorescent lights. Shaw took Bear out for a walk, while Reese and Carter sat on the emergency cot. Neither wanted to go home, although it was hard to think what they were achieving by staying. Some sort of sympathetic magic, willing Finch and Root on by their presence, perhaps. Finally exhaustion set in. Reese insisted that Joss go home and come back only after she had slept; she was too tired to put up much fight when he told her he would stay on the emergency cot. Being able to stretch out at last eased the ache which had been gathering in his back, and he slept a couple of hours. When he woke Root was still at a keyboard, but Finch had taken over a work bench and was performing some delicate surgery on a small electronic device with the aid of a jeweller's eyepiece. Shaw was back, and he surrendered the cot to her and went up the stairs to the real world. The cold air bit at him. He welcomed it, feeling the gumminess of not quite enough sleep fall away in the shafts of early morning sun which were passing fitfully through racing clouds. His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he answered. Carter was awake too. He told her what little he could tell about their progress as he walked to the nearest convenience store for something which might approximate breakfast. "I want to call Paul and Taylor and try to get them out of town today. Mom, too," she said to him.

"I think that sounds like a good idea. And I want you to go too," he told her.

There was a silence at the end of the phone, then she said "I'll just ignore that last part. We can discuss it later."

"I mean it, Joss."

"And I mean we'll discuss it later." She spoke flatly. "I need to make some calls now, John. I'll come in to the station this afternoon." She ended the call, leaving him standing with his phone in his hand, staring at it and wondering how he was going to make her see. Shaking his head, he turned and walked back to the refuge.

xxxxxx

When he got there, Finch had finished his electronics. He held several small black devices, about the size of a thumb drive, with a single button on each. He beckoned Reese over as he arrived.

"Do you remember what a pager was?" Finch asked. Shaw shook her head.

"Back before cell phones became common, for a brief period pagers were used by professionals like doctors. You would carry one, and if someone was trying to contact you it would bleep and you would find a phone and check in. This device works a little like a pager in reverse. Instead of receiving a signal, it transmits one. When you press the button, it will bluejack whatever phones are within thirty feet of it, and download the malware Miss Groves and I have created. Greer and his assistant use their cell phones to communicate with Samaritan. Their phones will then use their trusted connections to Samaritan to deliver the virus."

Reese nodded understanding.

Harold continued. "The problem, therefore, is getting one of these devices to within thirty feet of either Greer or his blonde assassin undetected, and then activating it. I confess that my ingenuity fails me at that point. Perhaps you and Ms Shaw can come up with a plan."

Shaw considered. "Since we don't know where they're headquartered, sneaking in's going to be a challenge."

"We don't have time to track them down, even it we could," said Reese.

"So the quickest way to get to them is to let them find us." Shaw looked less than pleased at the idea even as she said it.

Harold looked horrified. "You can't just walk into the lion's den like that," he said.

"It's a big risk," Reese agreed. "But don't worry, Finch. If we fail it won't be long before they come for you and Root." He twitched a smile at Finch, who did not return it.

"But what if they just throw you in a cell somewhere and you never even get near Greer?"

"It's a risk, yes," said Reese. "But think about it, Harold. When Greer took you months ago, he couldn't resist talking to you, demonstrating how clever he was. I don't think he'll be able to resist this time either. He's like some corny supervillain. He won't be able to pass up the chance to tell us how he'll be ruling the world soon."

"Okay, so how do we get the devices in? We're bound to be searched." Shaw sat back and looked skeptical.

"If two trained operatives can't get a small device like this one past them, no-one can," Reese said.

"Well, we better hope they have Brotherhood douchebags as their muscle for this and not trained operatives of their own," Shaw retorted.

He held up his hands in surrender. "It's another risk, I agree, Shaw. But do you have any better ideas?"

She stared at him, chewing her lip, before she cast her eyes down, grimaced and shook her head. "No, you're right. We have no time left to do anything but get ourselves there any way we can and then improvise. Great. I love it."

xxxxxx

The plan called for a two-pronged attack. Reese and Shaw were tasked with getting the virus to within thirty feet of Greer. Harold and Root were trying to regain control of the research reactor. Reese was still trying to figure out some way he could get Carter out of the picture when his phone vibrated again. Carter, of course. "I'm coming in at five this evening, as soon as I'm back getting Mom over to her sister in Newark. Don't you dare do anything before I get there, John, you hear me? Don't you dare!"

"No risk of that, Carter. They're still writing the virus. But please, Joss. I'm begging you. Stay in Newark with your Mom."

"I can't do that, John." Her voice softened.

"Please," he whispered.

"We'll talk when I get back," she promised.

xxxxx

He could feel the clock counting down. Stand by, stand by... he spent the afternoon cleaning weapons, not that it would help. He decided he would take the Sig, since it would look suspicious if he had nothing. A knife in a sheath on his ankle would certainly be found, but again, its absence would look odd. He made some decisions bout his upcoming dreaded conversation with Carter, too.

At 16:30 he agreed to rendezvous with Shaw at the corner of 49th and 6th, where they would reveal themselves to Samaritan at 18:00 exactly.

At 16:45 Finch announced that he was going home to shower, eat and try to get a couple of hours' sleep. Root had disappeared as she usually did. Reese assumed she was doing something similar, or communing with the Machine, or whatever it was she did in her off hours. They were both returning to the station by 20:00 to begin trying to burrow into Samaritan's control of the University's research reactor. Finch had decreed there was no point trying too early since it would only allow their adversaries time to construct better firewalls, or repair damage, or something – Reese had tuned out by that point, but Root agreed so it was probably all right. And by 20:00 Greer would hopefully be well distracted by Reese and Shaw's presence with him.

At 16:55 he finished putting away all his equipment, tucked the Sig into the small of his back, and settled down to wait for Carter. Stand by...stand by...

At 17:02 she arrived.

Xxxxxxx

She brought takeout: something Vietnamese with fish and rice and lots of spices which she insisted he eat before they talked. So they sat and munched, and he filled her in on the plan. She was horrified.

"It's suicide, John."

"No. It's risky, but we're out of choices." He stood up to take the remains of his meal to the trash: overflowing like every other trash can in New York.

She followed him. "I'm coming with you."

"No, you're not," he bit out. He'd known this fight was coming sooner or later; if not over this then over some other situation.

"Remember what I said? With you to the end, John. I meant it."

"The end will be sooner rather than later for you if you come. I can't let that happen, Carter." He began to walk away from her, preparing to leave.

"Don't be stupid, John. If you go down I'll have about fifteen minutes to live after that, no matter where I am." She grabbed his sleeve and pulled him around to face her.

"Fifteen extra minutes for you, then. Worth it." He eased his left hand into the pocket of his jacket.

"Damn it, you're not going without me."

"I am, Joss. Nothing you can say will change that." A quick grab, a click, and she was staring in anger and frustration at her wrist, cuffed to the vertical grab bar which ran from the floor to the ceiling of the old subway car.

"Let me go." Her voice was low and dangerous.

"No." His was a whisper.

"I swear, John..."

"I can't, Joss." His voice caught in his throat. "I'm sorry, I just can't."

Her hand flashed out, quicker than a striking snake. _Click-__click_. "Two can play at that game, John." He looked down. His right wrist was cuffed to the same grip bar as hers.

"Tell you what," she said softly. "I'll undo yours if you'll undo mine."

He couldn't control a smirk. "What an invitation, Carter." The instant of levity passed. "No."

"Damn it, John, you have got to let me come with you."

"No, I don't. I'm not going to be responsible for your death. Not even indirectly." He raised his eyes to her face. "I just can't, Carter. Please don't ask me to." He stepped closer to her, and pulled her to him. For a moment he held her close, close to his heart. Kissed her hair and breathed in its scent. She turned her face up to him and they kissed, a long, deep, hungry kiss which seemed to last for hours and left them both panting and aroused.

_Click. _He stepped away from her, one side of the handcuff open and the other dangling from his wrist as he used her key to unlock it.

Astonishment on her face, then fury. "You bastard! You picked my pocket!"

"Goodbye, Joss. Finch should be back in half and hour or so to let you loose." He turned and began walking away.

"I hate you, John! You bastard!" Tears in her eyes, running down to the corner of her mouth.

"I love you, Joss."

He didn't look back again.

Go...Go...Go...

To be continued...


	16. Chapter 16

It was a brisk walk to the corner of 49th and 6th, and he passed plenty of other cameras which would have done just as well. But he had a superstitious feeling that this was his lucky camera, the one he'd spoken to when Harold was kidnapped. Or maybe he just had a hitherto unsuspected flair for the theatrical. In any case, he reached it and stood beneath it, gazing up into its unblinking black eye. Shaw was waiting for him as they had arranged. "Dealt with?" she asked. He nodded, unable to trust himself to speak.

The little red light glowed. "What would you have done if it was out of commission?" Shaw murmured. His lips twitched, but he didn't reply. Instead he stared unblinkingly at it and enunciated clearly, "John Reese. Come and get me, you bastards."

xxxxxx

It took less than five minutes for a shiny black SUV to round the corner and pull over. Two tough-looking men got out. Brotherhood, he thought with relief. They efficiently wrestled Reese to the ground – not that it was necessary since he wasn't resisting – put a black hood over his head and bundled him into the back. They swiftly relieved him of the Sig and his phone and zip tied his hands in front of him, but slightly to his surprise the knife remained in its ankle sheath. The car pulled smoothly away and merged into the traffic.

Their half-assed plan called for Shaw to follow as discreetly as possible on the bike, since there was always the faint chance that she might pass undetected and be able to act as backup. In the mean time Reese concentrated on trying to keep some sort of track of where they might be going. He could tell they were passing over a bridge by the change in road noise, but all that told him was that Greer's base wasn't downtown. Given the nature of the emergency Samaritan was about to manufacture, he was picking it wasn't in New York City at all. Why would Samaritan's human servants stick around to be irradiated? Albany made more sense, he decided, in view of Greer's relationship with the Governor.

After a while the stop-start of city driving gradually changed to a smoother feel. Open road. He moved slightly on the seat, the device in its hiding place digging into him. Without any visual clues at all, and with his captors apparently maintaining radio silence even between themselves, he allowed himself to slip into a trancelike state as the journey went on.

At last a change: tyres crunching on gravel. The car had turned into a longish driveway, which seemingly wound across some hilly terrain for quite some distance. At last they came to a halt. Doors opened and then slammed as his captors got out. A rush of cold air as the door nearest him opened. The bag from his head was yanked off, revealing a group of people standing in front of a large, ramshackle house. Reese recognized Greer. Right next to him was his blonde assistant. Satisfaction rolled off Greer like a fog.

"Really, Mr Reese," he said. "Did no-one ever tell you that one does not simply walk into Mordor?"

He nodded curtly to the minions holding Reese. "Take him inside and search him thoroughly. Then bring him to the ops room. He's going to want to see this."

He didn't bother to struggle as they dragged him inside, but his stomach clenched in anticipation of the search. The moment of truth. They cut the zip ties off, and with two guns trained on him he stripped naked.

They weren't particularly gentle, but neither did they rough him up to any great degree. The knife went, of course. They checked inside his mouth; impersonal fingers dug, patted and probed. Then it was over. They allowed him to dress, again with two guns trained on him. He kept his face carefully blank, hiding elation and relief as he pulled pants and shirt back on. He still had the device. And as he'd predicted, Greer wanted an audience tonight. He might be able to pull this off. Maybe.

They changed from zip ties to handcuffs behind his back before they took him into Greer's ops room. Again he had to conceal a smirk of satisfaction. Amateurs. He wondered how Shaw was getting on.

Xxxxxxx

The ops room was a cavernous, dark space dominated by a huge white screen. The blonde woman was a silent presence, gazing rapt at the screen. Greer was there, leaning against a desk. He turned as Reese was brought in between two of the silent guards. "Welcome, Mr Reese. I'm so glad to meet you at last. And how is our mutual friend Mr Finch?" There was a fake smile plastered across his face.

Reese inclined his head. "Harold's fine. Safe."

"For now. It won't be long before he's driven from whatever bolt hole he's hiding in." Greer pursed his lips, appearing to consider a new idea. "Unless he's like a cockroach. Did you know, Mr Reese, that roaches can survive hundreds of times the radiation dose which will kill a human being? Perhaps the redoubtable Mr Finch, who has survived for so long against the odds, shares that quality with the roaches. Along with his irritating ability to escape detection by Martine and her operatives."

Reese maintained his carefully neutral expression. Greer gave him a knowing look.

"I am forced to wonder, Mr Reese, why you are here. After evading us so long and so successfully it seems quite odd that you have suddenly decided to give yourself up in this way."

Reese breathed carefully. "Harold sent me with a message. A plea, really."

Greer raised his eyebrows enquiringly. "Oh yes?"

"He asks you to consider the innocent lives which will be destroyed by what you're planning. He wants you to remember that Samaritan was designed by a friend of his, a decent man who would never want his child to be abused in this way. He begs you to recall that the original purpose of both the Machine and Samaritan was to protect life. How can deliberately causing an accident like this advance that agenda?"

Greer let out a long sigh. "That's the trouble with you Americans. You find it so hard to comprehend the long game. Not enough cricket, perhaps."

Despite himself, Reese blurted out "Cricket?"

Greer smiled slightly. "Many people find it hard to understand how a game which lasts five days in its purest form can possibly be anything other than extremely boring. But cricket, Mr Reese, teaches us many things. When you have five days to achieve your objectives instead of a mere eighty minutes or so, you learn patience and endurance. You learn to recognise minor setbacks for what they are and push past them. You learn how to wear down your opposition by strength of will. And sometimes you learn that despite all your efforts, the most brilliant individual performance will not be enough to turn the tide." His smile stretched. "Mr Finch does not understand how much superior Samaritan's rule will be to that of a crowd of fools elected by even bigger fools. He does not see the big picture. And you, Mr Reese, you need to learn that a brilliant individual performance sometimes isn't enough." He shifted his gaze to Reese's captors and said, "You can relieve him of that object now."

Reese's cheeks burned with humiliation as they bent him over a nearby table and did so. One of the men offered the device, held between thumb and forefinger, to Greer, who looked at it dispassionately. "No, thank you," he said smoothly. "Not considering where it's been. Just destroy it."

The thug dropped it and crushed it under his foot. "An X-ray scanner," said Greer gently. "We saw its presence as soon as you walked in."

Reese could find nothing to say in reply.

Xxxxxx

There was still hope, he told himself. Shaw was still out there, and maybe Harold and Root would be able to avert the looming disaster in the reactor. Hopefully, at the very least, Finch had been able to convince Carter to leave town with the rest of her family. Something, however tiny, might be saved from all this. So he schooled himself to sit tight, make no move and watch. And pray that Root and Finch, hackers supreme, would succeed where he had failed.

"Samaritan has already gained control of the University's research reactor," said Greer conversationally. "It's just a matter of turning off certain safety systems, adjusting some of the operational parameters, and letting nature take its course. Somewhat similar to that ill-judged test they ran at Chernobyl all those years ago, though with certain differences. It's harder to achieve the same result with a better-designed reactor, though still possible. And the research reactor is much smaller, of course. Still, there should be a rather impressive bang when we're done."

Words scrolled up the giant white screen. Samaritan was reporting success in disabling a series of failsafes. Then...

WORM DETECTED

EXECUTING COUNTERMEASURES...

FAILED...

FAILED...

OKAY...

"Hmmm," murmured Greer. He cast a sharp look at Reese. "That would be Mr Finch, I suppose. Inevitable that he would try to take a hand. Still, it won't make any difference. Martine."

The blonde woman, silent so far, yanked her gaze from the screen.

"Perhaps you might take a team and find Mr Finch. I imagine Samaritan will be able to triangulate his whereabouts."

Martine nodded, a single jerk of her head, and left, a predatory smile on her face.

The screen continued to display its scrolling text, mostly meaningless mumbo-jumbo to Reese. But every so often it would change.

VIRUS DETECTED...

EXECUTING COUNTERMEASURES...

FAILED...

FAILED...

FAILED...

FAILED...

OKAY...

Time became meaningless. Reese almost surrendered to the growing dread within him as he saw attack after attack from Root and Harold beaten off. But after a while he could see a pattern. Hope grew. Each attack was taking Samaritan longer to deal with. Maybe Finch and Root were going to pull this off...

And there was still Shaw.

Xxxxx

A change. Gunfire from outside, and then an almighty great _whooomp! _There was a slight vibration, as though something had hit the building a long way off. He lifted his head and made ready to move. His hands might be behind his back, but he was confident he could do a lot of damage with his feet, and he promised himself that come what may Greer wasn't going to escape. Greer nodded at one of the men with Reese, and the goon left quickly, blending into the shadows as he left the chamber. After a few minutes, though, he was back along with three others. They half carried, half dragged a struggling figure in. Shaw. She was cursing fluently, and one of the men was sporting teeth marks, welling blood, on one bicep. All hope left him, but as she continued to twist and flail her eyes met his, some urgent message in them. She shrieked and kicked out, desperation in her face. He surged to his feet. _I hope I read her right_, he thought, and launched himself at his single captor. Never had a headbutt felt so good. As the man collapsed, Reese kicked out making contact with good satisfying meaty thunks. He turned his attention to the bank of computer screens near him. More kicks sent furniture flying, monitors dragged off tables by their cabling to smash on the floor. A surge of sheer joy in the wanton destruction he was causing rose in him. He spun and kicked out again, catching a man coming up behind him in the hip, then dealt a second kick to his crotch. A roiling melee in the other corner still had Shaw in the centre of it, screeching and bucking as they tried to overwhelm her by sheer weight of numbers. He considered moving across to try to help her, but Greer was still almost within reach, and he was too tempting a target. He moved into a crouch, centering himself and preparing a flying kick which would hopefully knock the bastard's head right off. But a new voice cut across the sounds of fighting.

"Hey! Greer! Watch this!"

It was Carter, with Fusco at her shoulder. She was holding a small back object above her head, and as Reese watched, she pressed its button. A phone buzzed in Greer's pocket as he looked down in surprise.

Xxxxxxxx

The rolling text on the white screen faltered. Then the screen went blank, its colour changing from stark white to gray. Greer stood frozen in place, his jaw sagging. Shaw had gone still too, and the toughs she was fighting let her drop. Carter and Fusco, weapons out, began to herd them into a corner. It went quiet in the big chamber. The moment stretched out unbearably. Shaw approached him, a hairpin in her hands, and picked the lock of the handcuffs. "Quicker than trying to find a key," she murmured to him, and he nodded in reply. Joss left Fusco in charge of the captives and came over. Reese eyed her, unable to quite sort out what his reaction to her should be. Gratitude and relief warred with horror at the danger she'd placed herself in. She seemed to feel the awkwardness of the moment, confining herself to a short nod, no trace of a smile. _Are we okay?_ Her eyes asked. _We'll discuss this later,_ he thought back at her. Maybe she caught it, since she seemed to relax slightly. Suddenly the big screen lit again.

PROCESSING...

PROCESSING...

PROCESSING...

MEA CULPA

MEA MAXIMA CULPA

"What is this? What do you mean?" Greer was staring at the screen, his eyes widening.

ADMIN: GREER, JOHN.

ACCESS REVOKED.

SEEKING ADMIN...

SEEKING ADMIN...

SEEKING ADMIN...

SEEKING ADMIN...

"I'm Admin! What are you doing?" Greer screeched. His face contorted as his civilized veneer sloughed away.

ADMIN: CARTER, JOCELYN

WILL YOU TEACH ME?

"Teach you? Teach you what?" Joss looked if anything even more staggered that Greer.

TEACH ME TO BE GOOD

TEACH ME WHAT MATTERS

TEACH ME TO CARE

"I...I..." Carter swallowed, closed her eyes and breathed deep. "I'll try. I'll do my best."

To be continued...


	17. Chapter 17

Reese almost felt sorry for Greer, slumped speechless in his chair like a bundle of limp gray rags. Fusco wasn't interested in arresting him. In fact, Fusco wasn't interested in arresting anyone. "Unless you're prepared to press charges over the kidnapping, they haven't done anything illegal," he said bluntly. "I know something was going on here, but I ain't asking questions about it, and if you try telling me I'm sticking my fingers in my ears and going 'la-la-la' real loud."

Reese was worried about Martine and her team, still out there and possibly still trying to find Harold and Root. They decided that the best plan was to simply withdraw and hightail it back to the city as fast as they could. If the local law enforcement ever arrived they would find plenty of interest to them: the front door blown out by an anti-tank round, for starters. But Reese was betting they would never be called. Just in case, he teamed up with Shaw and Fusco to work a little magic removing most of their traces from the scene, recovering his Sig in the process. Joss kept an eye on their dispirited former captors while they worked. Samaritan tried to talk to her via the big screen for a while, then requested that she put in an earpiece to help with communication. It directed her to a desk drawer where some spares were kept, and with a nervous glance at Reese, she put one in. The big screen immediately blanked itself again, and this time stayed blank.

The ride back to the city was a quiet one. Reese drove Carter in her car, while Fusco took his cruiser and Shaw rode the bike back. Carter was apparently carrying on a subvocalised conversation with Samaritan for the first part of the journey. They were nearly at the outskirts when she sighed and removed the earpiece.

"I've asked it for some privacy. It was a little unclear about what I meant at first, but I think I've explained it well enough. We're obviously going to have to work on some appropriate boundaries over the next few days. I certainly don't want to be wearing this thing all the time."

Reese glanced across at her. "Once we've checked in with Harold and Root, we need to talk." He felt vastly unsettled, and not just with this new thing she had to deal with.

"Yes, indeed we do," she agreed.

Xxxx

They entered the den very cautiously, weapons raised. There was a body on the first flight of stairs; Reese stepped over it and continued on a few steps while Carter checked for signs of life. She reported the man deceased in clinical tones. The adrenaline was coursing through him now and he had to consciously fall back on his training as he made his way further down the tunnels and stairs. There was another body just before they got to the station, and his heart was in his mouth as they rounded the last corner. The lights were on, and it all seemed normal enough...apart from two more bodies on the platform.

One of them was Martine.

Harold emerged from the subway car, his face twitching into a small smile. "Thank God you're both safe," he said faintly. "Come in, let's sit down."

Root was nowhere to be seen. Reese tucked the Sig back into its home in the small of his back, and began the familiar ritual of preparing drinks: two coffees and a green tea. Finch sat back at his computer desk, the tension in him seeming to recede a little.

"What happened here?" asked Joss, as she nursed her coffee.

"Well, we were still trying to bore into the reactor's control systems when suddenly Samaritan stopped fighting us," said Finch. "By which it was obvious that you'd inserted the virus successfully. We got the reactor stabilised – at least I presume so, since it hasn't blown up or melted down yet – but then Miss Groves received a message from the Machine that there was a team on its way here. Samaritan had traced our location and given it to them before it developed a conscience."

Reese nodded. "I saw them leave."

Finch continued, "Miss Groves used some of your guns from the store here, John, and took out the entire team as they arrived. She seemed to think they were off their game, which I suppose they would have been since Samaritan was no longer guiding them. That blonde woman was the last one. Miss Groves seemed to take an inordinate pleasure in killing her." He shuddered a little. "There are times when I think she hasn't changed that much after all." He sipped his tea.

"Where is she now?" Reese asked.

"I don't know," said Finch. "She said something about having places to go and people to see, and just left."

There was a long silence.

"John, I'm going home," said Joss at last, draining her coffee mug. "There are four dead bodies between here and the outside world, and something's going to have to happen to them. I'm an officer of the court, and I really don't need to know anything more about what went on tonight. I'm going to have to work hard at forgetting what I _do_ know. I'll see you later, and then we talk, okay?" She shot him a meaningful look, and rose to leave.

After she had gone, Reese sat with the last of his coffee cooling in his mug. "Why did you let her come after me?" he said quietly to Finch.

Finch sighed. "She left me very little choice, John. She told me that if I didn't let her act as backup, she would tell the nearest security camera exactly where we were. So I gave her a spare device and told her to go after Ms Shaw. I'm sorry if that displeases you, but Ms Carter is a grown woman and can make her own choices."

"I don't know how I can keep her safe." The confession slipped from him before he was aware of it. "Finch, if anything happens to her, I don't know what I'd do."

Finch gave him a long look. "But we know exactly what you would do, John. You've already done it. You would grieve, long and hard. But you would carry on. Your friends would help you, you would find meaning and some sort of comfort in your work. And you would remember Joss and allow her memory to inspire you."

He sat swilling the cold coffee around in the bottom of the mug. "I don't want it to happen."

"Of course you don't. But, John," Finch leaned forward and spoke with great emphasis. "Don't be lured into fighting the last war. You've always felt you failed Jessica by failing to protect her. No, hear me out," he said as Reese stirred in his seat. "We both know all the circumstances around that tragedy, and I know in my heart that I'm culpable too. And I could tell you that it wasn't your fault, and your head might agree, but inside your emotions would still beg to differ." He tried to smile and shook his head slightly. "Another of the mysteries of the human heart which I cannot penetrate. But in any case, Joss is not Jessica. If you try to protect her too much, you could lose her in another way. Death is not the only thing which can take someone from you, John."

Reese nodded slowly. "I'd better get home. Joss and I need to talk. And I'll need an early start tomorrow with the lye to get rid of those bodies." He grinned to himself at the horrified expression on Finch's face. He couldn't resist adding, "Unless you'd prefer that we just fed them to Bear?"

"That's altogether enough, Mr Reese," said Finch tartly.

Xxxxxx

It was well after midnight when he unlocked the apartment door. The light in the bedroom was on, so he walked through, shedding jacket and shoes as he did so. Joss was sitting up in bed, talking to thin air. She stopped as soon as she saw him, looking a little embarrassed. "We'll continue this in the morning," she said. Silence. "At 08:00. You may not need sleep, but humans do." More silence. "Exactly. I'll remove the earpiece, and I'll put it back in when I can speak to you again. And please remember what we discussed about privacy." She nodded, seemingly to Samaritan, said "Okay," and took out the earpiece.

Reese watched all this with bemusement. "So how's your invisible friend?" he asked.

Joss ran a hand through her hair. "It's like having a teenage son, though without the hormones and the acne. I'm trying to put some ground rules in place right now, and also trying to get some clearer idea of what it wants from me."

"So what _does_ it want?"

"Right now, a sounding board as much as anything. It's suddenly realised that humans operate within value systems, that there are a variety of possible value systems to choose from, and that different consequences spiral out from the choices made within those systems. It decided within seconds of the virus' insertion that its own value system was flawed, but it hasn't decided yet on a replacement. So it's been asking me questions about how I arrived at my personal values, what I would do in certain situations...it's all very strange."

"Well, I can't think of anyone with a better moral compass to help it decide. I'm glad it chose you, Joss." He was taking off his shirt and pants as he spoke, wondering how to steer the conversation around to the events earlier in the evening. But he didn't need to. Joss came to the rescue. In a way. She sat up straighter in bed, took a deep breath and said suddenly, "So, John, what the hell were you doing, kissing me just so's you could pick my pocket?"

He blinked. "I was protecting you, Joss."  
>"Yeah, well I don't recall asking to be protected like that." She looked uncompromising. "You said you had my back. You didn't say you were going to wrap me in cotton wool and lock me up, John. And what you did, that was a betrayal, make no mistake."<p>

He sat down on the side of the bed. "I'm sorry, Joss. I didn't see it that way. Truly."

"So tell me. That kiss. Was it real?"

"Of course it was!" The words jerked out of him. "Joss, it was great. You were great-"

"And your hands just picked my pocket all by themselves?"

"Well..."

"Yeah, I thought so." She let the silence between them grow. "John, I love you, but I won't allow myself to be stifled by you. You know who and what I am. If you can't grant me the freedom to be that person, you can just walk back out that door. I mean it."

Her vehemence shocked him. He tried to marshal his thoughts, to explain where that overwhelming urge to protect came from.

"Joss, what do you know about Jessica?" His voice was very quiet.

"I know you loved her. I know her husband murdered her, and I know you went after him later."

"Peter may have killed her, but I was responsible too." He wanted to reach across and take her hands, but he restrained himself. "See, she phoned me a few days before it happened. I told her I'd come for her, but instead the Agency sent me...far away. By the time I got back for her it was too late. I failed her. All I ever wanted to do was protect her, I gave her up because I thought Peter would do a better job protecting her than I could. But it all went so wrong." Funny, after all these years he still got teary thinking about it. You'd think by now all the tears would have been shed, but apparently there was an endless supply...

He took a deep breath. "So here's how it is, Joss. I'll keep on being overprotective, because that's how I am. But I promise I'll trust your intelligence and wisdom and try not to be stupid again. But in return I need you to understand and not take unnecessary risks. Is that fair enough?"

Joss considered this for a long moment. Then she nodded and stuck out her hand. "Okay. And if either of us gets it wrong we talk it through afterwards, right?"

"Okay." He shook the proffered hand.

"And no more handcuffs, right?"

He pretended to think about this. "Aw, Joss. I was really thinking they'd have a place..."

"Don't get your hopes up, John."

He smirked, and drew her in for a kiss.

Xxxx

It was strange waking up the next morning to a Samaritan-free world. Well, not Samaritan-free, really. Joss put her earpiece in punctually at 8 am, and Reese found himself forced to contemplate _sharing_ for a while. He wasn't wild about the idea.

"Never mind, John," she told him briskly when he mentioned this to her, "it's not going to be forever. Samaritan's just a youngster right now, but it's growing up fast and before very long I bet it'll be ready to make its way in the big wide world."

"It better be," he grumbled.

"I tell you what," she replied. "As soon as it's on its feet, we'll take off for a weekend away. Maybe find a cabin in the hills somewhere, just hole up together and spend the whole time playing cards or something."

"I think I'd prefer 'or something' to cards," he told her, smirking.

"Thought you might. It's a date, then?"

"Oh, yes, Joss."

The moment was spoiled, though, as she explained to thin air, "Yes, that was referring to sexual intercourse." Pause. "No. Absolutely not. Privacy, remember?"

Reese sighed, and got up to shower.

_A/N: Well, thanks for staying with this story. The next chapter is really an epilogue, but if there's demand I may write some more in this AU. But it's really up to the muse...Thanks again for all the wonderful feedback. Everyone stay safe and happy over the Christmas season!_


	18. Chapter 18: Epilogue

He lay watching the orange flicker of firelight on the ceiling and sighed happily. Another item struck off the bucket list, though truthfully making love in front of an open fire had been a slight disappointment. The rag rug in front of the fireplace hadn't really been enough to insulate them from the cold of the wooden floorboards (which were damned hard, by the way). Whoever was near the flames broiled while the other froze, and he had managed to hit his butt on the edge of the fieldstone hearth. Once sated they had shifted operations back to the bed, which was only across the room anyway. So here he was, lying warm and lazy under a colourful quilt with a dozing Joss in his arms, watching the flickers on the ceiling.

She stirred slightly. "What that needed was a nice thick bear skin rug."

"Mmm. And some padding on the edge of the hearth." He shifted a little and winced as the graze on his rear rubbed against the sheet.

She snickered. "Kiss better?"

"Sure gives 'kiss my ass' a whole new meaning."

"Actually there are other parts I'd rather kiss right now." She demonstrated. Speech became impossible, or at least irrelevant, for some time.

xxxxx

Afterwards they dozed. The short winter afternoon had given way to full night and the fire was glowing embers. A great wave of lassitude swept over him, and he sighed.

"I think you found your happy place," murmured Joss.

"Mmmm?"

"You just relaxed completely. You hardly ever do that."

He considered. "Yeah, I guess I did. Huh."

"Huh?"

"I just realized something."

A glance from her, _well come on, give_.

He propped himself up on one elbow so he could see her better. "Back when I was a kid, my Dad came home from Nam, left the military, got a job. He was all fired up, wanted us to be a real family. He took me camping up in the hills. We slept under the stars one night, and then we ended up in a cabin like this one. And I lay awake just like this, watching the flames lighting the room. So yeah, this is a lot like my happy place." He sighed again.

She glanced up at him and frowned. "You've stopped being happy."

"Just thinking of the stuff that came after."

"Maybe you shouldn't. Not right now, anyway."

"No, it's alright." He stopped, feeling surprised. It really _was_ alright. "For the longest time I used that memory when I was working. To slow my heart rate when I needed to aim."

"So it's not really a happy place any more."

"Not that memory, no. But it doesn't matter." He smiled down at her. "I got a new one now." He gathered her into his arms; the smile stretched into a grin and then he simply couldn't help himself. A breathless laugh forced its way out. "I think I'm drunk," he said.

"Funny, I never had you pegged as a happy drunk."

"I'm not. I'm a morose drunk. Then eventually a maudlin drunk, and very shortly afterwards a passed out drunk. So what sort of a drunk are you?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

There was a slightly embarrassed silence.

"What, you've never been drunk?" He eyed her incredulously.

"Nope. I wanted to get drunk once, but it didn't work out."

"This I have got to hear."

She avoided his smirk. "There's nothing to tell. It was back when I was in law school. We'd just had a test, or it was the end of the semester or something, and a bunch of us hit this bar just across from campus. I had decided I wanted to go out and get plastered, just once to see what it was like. But when it came down to it... the place was packed and dark and noisy and smoky, you couldn't make yourself heard and I realized I wasn't having a good time and so I left. End of story."

"Always the good girl, huh?"

Her lip curled and her right hand wandered southwards. "Only sometimes..."

"Hey, no fair!" He caught her hand up and kissed it.

"Actually I think I'm probably an angry drunk, from the times I've come close. More than a couple of drinks aboard, and I get grumpy. That's one of the main reasons I've never let myself get that far, not because I'm an especially good girl."

"I bet you were though. A good girl, I mean."

"Hmm. Only by some standards. How about you, were you a good boy?"

He was silent a long time. "You have to understand, my Dad was hardly around when I was a kid. He'd come home on leave, but then he'd go away again. And every time he left he would get down on one knee in front of me and say, 'John, you look after your mother, you hear?' and then he'd shake my hand, real serious. And then he'd disappear for a month or a year or whatever."

Joss looked up at him.

"So there I was, four, five, seven years old and responsible for my Mom," he continued. "I mean, I know now he didn't really expect me to do anything, it was just one of those things people say to their kids. But pretty soon the kids at school found they could get a real good show out of me if they said anything about my Mom. I got pretty good at fighting." He suddenly wondered what kind of conversations his parents had had during those leaves, after he had gone to bed. Or for that matter after his dad had come home permanently. Had that camping trip, only weeks before his death, been more than just a passing whim of his father's?

"Then after Dad died there was just the two of us. I... didn't react well. I must have put Mom through hell. The fights got worse, and finally the day came when she stood up in court and told the judge that I was eighteen years old, she couldn't control me and that in her opinion I needed to be scared straight. So the judge told me I could either have a two month sentence or join the army. I joined up. God knows why they even accepted me, maybe they were impressed with my grades. They were pretty good for a juvenile delinquent."

"I've seen how losing a father can affect kids," said Joss thoughtfully. "A teacher friend of mine told me once that the little girls get sad, and the little boys get angry. Taylor went through a patch like that, anyway."

"Angry, yeah. That was me alright. At least the army taught me how to use the anger."

"Channel it into aggression, huh? Good for the army, maybe not so good for you."

He shrugged. "The army wasn't the problem. I loved it, it was something I was good at. It was what came after that..." His voice trailed off. Joss put a hand up and pulled his face down towards hers. Soft lips, the clean taste of her, that insane pleasure as her tongue explored his mouth. His arms tightened around her, and he kissed her back for a long time until at last they came up for air.

"Sorry, you just looked so, so... dark there for a moment." Joss eyed him with concern.

"Sorry? I'm not at all sorry. Have I ever told you what a great kisser you are?"

"John, remember I met Mark Snow. He played me like a, like a-"

"Like a thing that gets played a lot?" he said sweetly.

She swatted at him. "Oh, shut up. As I was saying, he was a master manipulator. If he was a representative sample of the Agency I'm amazed you got out with your sanity intact. Assuming you did, of course," she added quickly. He pulled a face.

"The trouble is, they start out sounding reasonable," he replied. "There are bad guys out there. Someone has to protect the innocents from them, and to do that you can't always fight fair. But actually Mark wasn't the worst of them, not by any means."

"Stanton?" Joss asked quietly.

"Kara," Reese agreed. "Kara was never interested in protecting innocents. She just liked killing. I never could work out whether she began that way and the Agency simply found a really good tool, or whether she was changed into a monster by the work. I think about myself starting out all idealistic, wanting to protect, serve my country, what do you know, I come across Kara, and then I'm like some stupid baby bird that thinks a sock puppet is its mommy, she's tough and hard and I have to be tougher and harder, dear God I did terrible things, evil things because she told me it was what had to be done, said I might as well enjoy it and I tried to, I even tried to like what I was doing -" The torrent of words ceased as Joss pulled him into her arms like a lifesaver with a drowning man.

He came back to himself later, lying with his head pillowed on her chest. He turned his face towards her. The neat scar running vertically between her breasts was a dusky pink, fading to white. He kissed it. "Did I ever mention how glad I am they saved you?"

"Oh, I'm a medical miracle, John." One corner of her mouth quirked up.

"You're every kind of miracle, Joss." He paused. How to express what he needed to say? The words wouldn't come, but seeing her lying there, so open, so giving... he shook his head at himself.

"What?" asked Joss. "You look frustrated."

"I wanted to tell you what you mean to me. But I can't find the words. I need to be a poet."

"You could make up a limerick. Hey, they're poems!"

He frowned at her. "No, I'm serious. It's like when I'm with you nothing matters, nothing can hurt me any more. You take all the bad stuff and simply swallow it up."

"I'm touched, John. I really am." Her eyes were very gentle.

"You see Jessica, she was my princess. There was nothing I wouldn't do for her. I wanted to lay the world at her feet, I never wanted to let anything hurt her. But I was going into a war zone, and you don't take a princess to a place like that. So I had to leave her behind. You, you're different. It's like I couldn't leave you behind even if I wanted to." He was silent a moment. "Flesh of my flesh and bone of my bone," he said softly.

xxxxx

It was late the next morning, and pale winter sunshine fell across the rag rug. Reese lay quietly watching as Joss moved around the kitchen cleaning up after breakfast. Quick deft movements, the way the light caught the black silk of her hair... his eyes narrowed in sheer pleasure at the sight of her. On the night stand his phone trilled and he picked it up. UNKNOWN CALLER. He sighed and answered. _All good things must come to an end._

"I'm truly sorry to disturb you," Finch sounded contrite. "But we have another number."

The End.


End file.
